THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


BY  THE  AUTHOR  OF  THIS  VOLUME. 


POEMS. 


BY    JULIA    C.    R.    DORR, 

AUTHOR  OF  "SYBIL   HUNTINGTON,"  "EXPIATION,"  ETC. 
I  •:»«>.     Extrn  Cloth.    $1.5O. 

"  One  of  the  sweetest  and  most  inspiring,  as  well  as 
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mont." —  Troy  Press. 

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many  hearts,  and  enshrined  for  her  therein  a  niche  close 
and  sacred." — Charleston  Courier. 


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EXPIATION. 


EXPIATION. 


BY 


MRS.  JULIA   C.  R.  DORR, 

AUTHOR    OF    "SYBIL    HUNTINGTON,"    ETC. 


PHILADELPH I  A: 

J.    B.    LIPPINCOTT    &    CO. 
1873- 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1872,  by 

J.    B.    LIPPINCOTT    &    CO., 
In  the  Office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress  at  Washington. 


ps 

1 5+7 


EXPIATION. 


CHAPTER    I. 

I  HAD  discovered  at  least  three  gray  hairs  on  my 
last  birthday,  and  girls  of  the  mature  age  of  fifteen 
were  beginning  to  call  me  "  old  Miss  Rossiter,"  when 
the  Armstrongs  first  came  to  Altona.  Lest  this 
should  not  fix  the  date  definitely  enough  to  suit  the 
statisticians,  I  will  add  that  it  was  in  the  autumn  of 

^Si- 
There  were  only  three  of  them, — Mr.  John  Arm 
strong,  a  tall,  stern-featured  man  of  fifty-five,  or 
thereabouts,  and  his  two  sons,  Kenneth  and  Clyde. 
The  brothers,  one  of  whom  was  eighteen,  the  other 
fifteen,  were  half-brothers  only;  and  there  was  no 
mother.  Mr.  Armstrong's  last  wife,  who  had  been, 
so  rumor  said,  a  beautiful  but  in  many  respects  a 
strange  woman,  many  years  younger  than  himself, 
had  died  a  few  months  previous  to  his  arrival  in  our 
little  town,  and  had  been  buried  in  the  family  vault 
in  Greenwood, — buried  in  great  state,  with  all  the 
eclat  that  funeral  pomp  and  pageantry,  nodding 
plumes,  crape  streamers,  costly  catafalque,  mourning 
carriages  in  long  array,  and  other  wonderful  trap 
pings  of  wealth  and  woe  could  give  to  the  perform- 

i*  (5) 

1692611 


5  EX  PI  A  TION. 

ance.  I  remembered  having  read  an  account  of  it  in 
the  daily  Tribune,  which  was  the  delight  and  solace 
of  my  winter  evenings;  and  when  I  learned  that  Mr. 
John  Armstrong  of  New  York,  formerly  senior 
partner  in  the  great  house  of  Armstrong,  Verner  & 
Co.,  had  bought  the  Elliot  place,  I  knew  he  was  the 
very  man  who  had  buried  his  wife  so  elaborately. 

Being  of  Quaker  descent,  and  slightly  inclined 
toward  Quakerism  myself,  the  glowing  account  of 
this  funeral  had  simply  disgusted  me.  On  the  whole, 
I  rather  regretted  the  coming  of  these  new  neigh 
bors.  I  deplored  the  introduction  of  the  new  ele 
ment  of  fuss  and  feathers  into  our  simple  country 
life. 

Yet,  after  all,  it  was  pleasant  to  think  that  the 
Elliot  place  was  to  be  a  home  once  more.  Its  gate 
way  was  just  opposite  to  my  own  ;  and  I  remembered 
how,  as  I  sat  in  the  window  of  my  unpretending  little 
house,  busy  with  needle,  or  book,  or  pen,  I  had  been 
wont  to  lift  my  eyes  that  I  might  catch  glimpses  of 
the  young,  light-robed  figures  that  flitted  among  the 
trees,  wandered  down  the  garden-paths,  or  gathered 
at  nightfall  upon  the  broad  piazza.  It  had  been 
pleasant  to  sit  in  the  soft  darkness  myself  after  the 
stars  came  out,  and  watch  for  the  lights  as,  one  by 
one,  they  twinkled  from  window  and  doorway ;  and 
to  share,  in  my  own  quiet  way,  the  full,  free,  joyous 
life  that  was  going  on  so  near  me. 

But  that  was  long  ago.  The  Elliot  quarry  proved 
an  utter  failure,  having  swallowed  up,  after  the  man 
ner  of  quarries,  at  least  two  independent  fortunes. 
The  white-robed  figures  flitted  out  of  the  house,  and 


EXPIA  TION.  j 

out  of  my  life.  The  lights  went  out;  the  windows 
were  closed ;  the  gateway  was  nailed  up ;  the  rose 
bushes  grew  riotous ;  the  syringa  thrust  one  of  its 
long  arms  through  a  broken  pane  in  the  library ; 
and  the  honeysuckles  clambered  unheeded  to  the 
very  eaves.  For  awhile  some  tame  pigeons  hovered 
about  the  place,  sat  on  the  ridgepole,  perched  upon 
the  tall  chimneys,  or  swooped  to  the  ground  in  search 
of  food.  But  at  length  they  too  took  their  departure, 
and  Tara's  Hall  was  left  to  its  own  desolation. 

Now,  however,  there  was  a  change.  Mr.  Elliot's 
agent,  who  had  held  nominal  possession  of  the  place, 
marshaled  a  small  army  of  workmen  and  work 
women,  and  in  an  incredibly  short  space  of  time  it 
was  swept  and  garnished  and  made  ready  for  its  new 
owner.  Shrubbery  was  trimmed,  paths  were  freshly 
graveled,  the  lawn — green  yet,  although  it  was  late  in 
October — was  freshly  shaven,  and  all  the  rubbish  that 
had  accumulated  through  years  of  neglect  was  care 
fully  removed.  Paint  had  been  cleaned,  windows 
brightened,  the  new  carpets  that  had  been  sent  from 
the  city  had  been  laid  down,  and  the  old  furniture, 
that  had  gone  with  the  house,  had  been  uncovered 
and  rearranged.  * 

It  was  five  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  and  Mr.  Arm 
strong  was  expected  to-morrow.  I  was  just  laying 
the  cloth  for  my  solitary  meal,  and  smiling  to  my 
self,  as  I  placed  upon  the  table  a  tiny  crystal  vase  in 
which  a  scarlet  salvia  glowed  against  a  background 
of  white  chrysanthemums,  when  I  heard  a  quick 
knock  at  my  door. 

It  was  Patsy.     Probably  the  tall,  angular  woman, 


3  EX  PI  A  TION. 

with  iron-gray  hair  drawn  plainly  back  from  her  fore 
head  and  coiled  in  the  closest  possible  knot  behind, 
keen,  gray  eyes,  a  sallow  complexion,  high  cheek 
bones,  an  air  at  once  kindly,  shrewd,  and  observant, 
and  garments  that  hung  straightly  about  her  gaunt, 
spare  figure, — probably,  I  say,  this  woman  had  at 
some  remote  period  of  her  life  been  the  acknowl 
edged  owner  of  another  name.  But  Altona  knew 
her  as  Patsy, — just  Patsy  ;  and  as  Patsy  will  she  come 
and  go  upon  the  pages  of  this  book.  In  one  hand 
she  flourished  a  huge  feather  duster,  and  over  her 
arm  hung  a  motley  collection  of  parti-colored  cloths. 
Laughing  and  panting,  she  sank  upon  the  chair  I 
offered  her. 

"  Dear  me !"  she  said,  glancing  down  at  her  odd 
equipments,  "  I  didn't  know  that  I  had  brought  all 
this  trumpery  with  me.  I'd  just  been  round  the 
house  gathering  up  the  odds  and  ends,  and  I  thought 
I'd  run  across  bareheaded,  to  see  if  you  wouldn't 
come  over  for  a  minute  and  take  a  look  at  things. 

o 

I'm  just  flustrated,  Miss  Rossiter,  that's  a  solemn 
fact !" 

"  Flustrated  ?"  I  said,  giving  another  twist  to  the 
green  setting  of  my  sal  via.  "  Flustrated,  Patsy  ?  How 
is  that?  I  thought  nothing  ever  put  you  out." 

She  smiled  grimly.  "  Work  never  puts  me  out ; 
but  jimcracks  are  too  much  for  me.  I  don't  know 
what  on  airth  to  do  with  'em.  Come  over,  Miss 
Rossiter,  do  now  !  and  see  whether  I've  got  'em  any 
way  near  ship-shape." 

"  I  do  not  doubt  that  everything  is  right,"  I  said, 
throwing  a  light  shawl  over  my  head,  "  and  as  neat 


EXPIA  TION.  g 

as  wax,  Patsy,  if  you  have  taken  charge  of  the  sweep 
ing  and  scrubbing." 

"  Yes,  I  can  tell  dirt  as  far  as  any  other  woman ; 
and  there  ain't  a  fly-speck  nor  a  mite  of  dust  about 
that  house,  I'll  be  bound.  But  when  it  comes  to  the 
little  fixin's,  then  I'm  beat.  But  hurry  up,  Miss 
Rossiter;  it'll  be  dark  before  you  know  it,  and  I 
don't  want  to  light  no  lights,  mussing  up  the  lamps 
and  things !" 

We  had  crossed  the  road  by  this  time,  and  were 
going  in  under  the  tall,  arched  gateway.  The  house 
stood  upon  rising  ground,  and  the  drive  wound  up 
ward  beneath  forest  trees, — stately  maples  centuries 
old,  and  birches  that  were  ablaze  with  golden  light. 
I  would  fain  have  paused  a  moment  to  watch  the 
changing  shadows,  as  the  long,  slanting  sunbeams 
shot  through  them  from  the  west ;  but  Patsy  strode 
on  with  the  tread  of  a  grenadier,  bearing  me  with  her. 
She  had  business  on  hand. 

We  entered  the  house,  and  she  led  the  way  into 
the  parlor,  on  the  right.  Spacious  enough,  homelike, 
and  cozy,  I  thought ;  or  would  be  when  the  house 
hold  gods,  so  long  banished  to  other  shrines,  should 
have  come  back  again.  I  stepped  about  the  room, 
making  some  slight  changes  in  the  arrangement  of 
the  furniture,  and  then  ran  out  into  the  yard  to 
gather  treasures  of  gold  and  coral  and  amber  where 
with  to  fill  the  wedgwood  vases  that  stood  upon  the 
mantel. 

"  You  do  beat  all !"  exclaimed  Patsy,  in  the  exu 
berance  of  her  delight.  "  Them  vases  do  look  won 
derful  !  But  come  here,  Miss  Rossiter,"  she  whis- 
A* 


I0  EXPIATION. 

pered,  "iome  here!  I've  got  something  to  show  you. 
What  on  airth  shall  a  body  do  with  this  thing?" 

She  had  drawn  me  toward  a  small  round  table 
that  stood  behind  the  door ;  and,  as  she  spoke,  she 
removed  a  heavy  linen  towel  from  an  exquisite  Parian 
statuette — an  Eve. 

"  I  thought  I'd  better  cover  it  up  while  the  men- 
folks  was  round,"  she  went  on,  in  the  same  constrained 
whisper;  "  'tain't  decent,  Miss  Rossiter,  that's  a  fact. 
I  wouldn't  ha'  believed  the  Elliots  would  ha'  had 
such  a  thing  in  their  house,  if  I  hadn't  seen  it  with 
my  own  eyes." 

I  did  not  answer  at  once.  I  was  too  much  ab 
sorbed  in  admiring  the  beautiful  figure,  which  I  recog 
nized  from  a  print  in  my  possession ;  and  presently 
Patsy  went  on  : 

"What  is't  an  image  of,  anyhow?  Brother  Jere 
miah  he  saw  a  wax  figure  of  Martha  Washington 
once,  when  he  was  down  to  New  York.  But  this 
can't  be  her,  stark  naked  and  holding  something  that 
looks  like  an  apple  in  her  hand.  I  should  ha'  thought 
maybe  it  was  Eve ;  but  there's  that  great  piece  o' 
cloth  hanging  onto  the  stump  of  a  tree,  and  I  take  it 
there  hadn't  been  none  manufactured  in  the  Garden 
of  Eden,  or  Eve  wouldn't  ha'  made  aprons  out  o'  fig- 
leaves." 

I  smiled  at  her  quick  detection  of  the  anachronism, 
while  I  informed  her  that  her  supposition  was  correct, 
and  that  it  was  Eve,  nevertheless. 

"Well,  I  never!  Eve,  is  it?  Do  you  suppose  it 
looks  like  her,  Miss  Rossiter?"  And  for  a  moment 
Patsy  forgot  her  scruples  in  eager  curiosity.  "  Do 


EXPIA  TION.  1 1 

you  suppose  she  was  so  tall  and  shapely,  and  had 
such  hair  as  that  ?     Ain't  it  wonderful  ?" 

Taking  advantage  of  her  mood,  I  said, — 

"  Yes,  wiser  people  than  you  or  I  have  thought  it 
wonderful,  Patsy.  Let  us  put  it  on  this  bracket  in 
the  corner.  It  will  look  better  there  than  on  the 
table." 

But  her  horrified  face  checked  me. 

"  Not  right  there  in  plain  sight  ?  Maybe  it's  all 
right,  Miss  Rossiter;  and  if  they've  a  mind  to  put  it 
there  when  they  come,  well  and  good.  I  hain't  any 
thing  to  say  about  that.  But,  if  you'd  just  as  lief, 
I'd  rather  put  it  up  in  the  parlor  chamber-closet,  on 
the  top  shelf,  till  they  do  come."  And  wrapping  poor 
Eve  in  her  linen  covering  again,  Patsy  bore  her  up 
stairs  and  consigned  her  to  ignominious  seclusion. 

"  I  didn't  mean  no  offense,  Miss  Rossiter,"  she  said, 
apologetically,  when  she  came  down.  "  But  some 
things  is  decent  and  some  things  ain't;  and  I  don't 
believe  in  putting  that  naked  woman  right  here  in  the 
parlor.  Old  as  I  be,  it  made  me  color  up  when  I  saw 
one  o'  the  plasterers  a-looking  at  it ;  and  when  he'd 
gone  out  I  covered  it  up  quicker'n  a  wink." 

If  I  had  not  known  and  respected  Patsy's  real 
simplicity  and  purity  of  heart,  I  might  have  been 
tempted  to  whisper  in  her  ear,  "  Evil  to  him  that  evil 
thinks,"  "  To  the  pure  all  things  are  pure,"  and  other 
proverbs  of  that  ilk.  But,  as  it  was,  I  merely  said, — 

"  Let  us  go  into  some  of  the  other  rooms.  Are 
they  all  settled,  Patsy  ?" 

We  wandered  over  the  house, — through  the  cham 
bers,  into  the  library  and  dining-room, — and  out  into 


!  2  EXP1A  TION. 

the  kitchen  and  store-room.  All  was  fresh,  bright, 
and  sweet,  and  I  expressed  my  admiration  accord 
ingly. 

"  I've  taken  a  sight  o'  pains,  that's  a  fact,"  said 
Patsy,  giving  a  door-knob  an  extra  polish  with  her 
apron.  "  You  see,  I  expect  this  Mr.  Armstrong  will 
come  on  with  a  .whole  raft  of  help  from  the  city,  and 
I  wanted  to  show  'em'  that  we  country-folks  know  a 
thing  or  two  !  It's  all  clean,  at  any  rate."  And  Patsy 
opened  drawer  after  drawer,  and  cupboard  after  cup 
board,  all  immaculate  in  their  purity. 

It  was  time  for  me  to  go  home ;  but  while  Patsy 
was  closing  windows  and  fastening  doors,  I  lingered 
upon  the  piazza.  Ah  !  how  beautiful  they  were, — 
the  pictures  that  met  my  eyes  wherever  they  turned  ! 
Altona  was  nestled  high  up  among  the  hills, — a 
little,  irregular,  picturesque  village,  with  mountains 
below  it  and  mountains  above  it,  yet  with  broad 
stretches  of  meadow-land  as  you  looked  down  the 
valley,  through  which  sparkled  a  narrow,  dancing 
stream  that  had  nothing  to  do  but  play.  If  the 
Elliot  quarry  had  not  proved  a  failure,  it  would  have 
been  taken  captive  and  forced  to  work.  As  it  was,  it 
wandered  at  its  own  sweet  will,  rejoicing,  I  doubt  not, 
in  its  happy  idleness.  So,  as  I  stood  there  in  the  late 
afternoon,  the  lovely  valley  stretched  away  before  me, 
beautiful  in  its  green  repose.  Around  me  on  each 
side  towered  the  mountains  peak  on  peak,  their 
summits  wrapped  in  rose  and  purple,  amber  and 
amethyst ;  while  lower  down  were  peaceful,  rounded 
domes,  clothed  with  pines  and  hemlocks  to  their  very 
summits.  I  only  caught  stray  glimpses  of  the  village  : 


EX  PI  A  TION.  1 3 

.here  and  there  a  gleam  of  white,  a  warm  red,  or  a 
quiet  brown, — the  sparkle  of  a  window-pane,  or  a 
single  spire  rising  through  the  trees.  Even  my  own 
small  cottage,  which  was  nearly  opposite,  was  quite 
hidden  from  my  sight,  so  dense  was  the  foliage 
that  rose  between. 

And  to-morrow  the  Armstrongs  were  coming !  I 
went  home  to  the  company  of  my  birds  and  flowers ; 
and  that  night  I  dreamed  of  the  strange  wife  and  her 
magnificent  funeral,  and  awoke  to  wonder  what  had 
induced  her  husband  to  tear  himself  away  from  all 
the  associations  of  a  prosperous  lifetime  and  bury 
himself  among  our  mountains. 


CHAPT  ER   II. 

I  WAS  by  no  means  the  only  person  in  Altona  who 
wondered  why  Mr.  Armstrong  had  come  thither ; 
or  rather,  why  he  was  preparing  to  come.  I  differed 
from  many  others  only  in  this, — that  whereas  they 
openly  queried,  made  all  sorts  of  guesses,  and  reached 
the  wildest  conclusions,  I  kept  my  thoughts  to 
myself.  Certain  vague,  undefined,  shadowy  rumors 
had  floated  to  us  over  the  hills, — just  enough  to 
arouse  the  idlers,  who  in  every  community,  especially 
in  one  so  isolated  as  ours,  are  always  eager  to  hear 
and  to  tell  some  new  thing.  Altona  found  her  little 
bit  of  a  mystery  a  rare  treat;  it  quite  vivified  and 


I4  EXPIATION. 

brightened  her  calm,  slow-going  life,  and  she  made 
the  most  of  it. 

As  for  me,  I  was  by  no  means  a  gossip  nor  an 
idler;  yet  I  found  my  thoughts  wandering  constantly 
to  the  Armstrongs.  Had  there  been  wife  or  daughter 
whose  presence  might  have  converted  any  domicile, 
even  the  rudest,  into  a  home,  it  would,  perhaps,  have 
been  less  strange  that  a  man  hardly  past  his  prime, 
in  the  full  vigor  of  his  intellect  and  the  rich  maturity 
of  his  powers,  should  suddenly  throw  up  a  flourishing 
and  lucrative  business,  and  come  to  our  quiet  town 
with  the  intention  of  making  it  a  permanent  resi 
dence.  But  that,  with  his  two  sons  just  verging  upon 
manhood,  and  no  mother  or  sister  to  rule  the  house 
with  gentle  ministry,  he  should  attempt  to  build  up 
a  home  in  Altona,  was  odd,  to  say  the  least  of  it.  I 
wondered  if  he  knew  how  long  the  winter  evenings 
would  be ;  and  if  he  thought  how  his  boys  would 
miss  the  stir  and  bustle,  the  stimulus  and  excitement, 
of  the  life  to  which  they  had  been  accustomed. 

The  next  day  they  came,  as  was  expected.  Altona 
lay  off  the  line  of  the  railroad,  and  the  daily  arrival 
of  the  stage  was  the  great  event  of  the  day.  Patsy 
had  been  over  the  house  again  that  morning, 
"  straightening  out  things,"  as  she  phrased  it,  al 
though  it  would  have  puzzled  any  brain  but  hers  to 
tell  what  there  was  to  straighten.  Finally,  at  my 
suggestion,  she  made  a  bright  little  fire  upon  the 
hearth  in  the  library, — for  the  day  was  chilly, — and 
also  one  in  the  kitchen.  Then  she  came  over  to  me. 

"  I  don't  want  to  disturb  you,  if  you're  particularly 
busy,  Miss  Rossiter,"  she  said,  glancing  at  my  table. 


EXPIA  TION.  i  5 

"But,  if  you  haven't  no  objections,  I  should  like  to 
sit  down  by  this  window  for  a  spell,  and  watch  for  the 
stage.  After  working  so  hard  to  get  the  house  ready 
for  'em,  I  kind  o'  want  to  see  what  sort  o'  creeters 
they  be." 

"  I  presume  they  are  very  much  like  other  people, 
Patsy,"  I  answered.  "  They  will  be  tired  and  dusty 
and  travel-worn,  like  ordinary  mortals." 

"  Oh,  yes, — the  gentry,"  said  Patsy,  meditatively. 
"  They're  pretty  much  alike  the  world  over,  I  guess. 
But  I  wa'n't  thinking  so  much  about  them  as  about 
their  help.  I  want  to  see  what  sort  o'  followers  they 
bring  with  "em." 

But  when  in  due  season  the  stage-coach  swept  past 
the  house,  turned  in  under  the  gateway,  and  dashed 
up  the  hill  beneath  the  overarching  maple-boughs,  it 
held  precisely  three  passengers. 

"Why,  they  hain't  brought  a  soul  with  'em  !"  said 
Patsy,  turning  round  blankly.  "  Not  a  soul.  The 
old  man  he's  as  straight  and  smart  as  a  prince  of 
the  blood,  and  the  boys  are  likely-looking  fellows 
enough.  The  smallest  one's  been  sick,  I  guess.  Did 
you  see  how  pale  he  was  ?" 

"  No ;  he  was  on  the  back  seat,  and  I  did  not 
notice  him,"  I  answered. 

"Well,  he  don't  look  fit  to  stand,  much  less  to  be 
traveling  round.  Miss  Rossiter — !" 

I  looked  up,  but  Patsy  was  in  a  brown  study. 
After  a  minute  I  said, — 

"What  is  it,  Patsy?" 

"Nothing,"  she  answered;  "only  I  was  a-thinking. 
That  sick  boy  ought  to  have  his  dinner,  and  how  is 


j6  EXPIATION. 

he  going  to  get  it,  I  should  like  to  know  ?  Nobody 
in  the  house  but  men  folks,  and  the  Lord  knows 
they're  just  as  helpless  as  babies,  allus." 

I  did  not  reply.  She  was  capable  of  solving  her 
"problem  without  any  of  my  help.  Presently  she 
went  on, — 

"Would  you,  Miss  Rossiter?" 

"Would  I  what?" 

"  Why,  would  you  go  up  there  and  see  if  you  could 
help  'em  get  settled  and  comfortable?  I'd  go  in  a 
minute  if  they  was  poor  folks." 

"  Rich  folks  stand  in  need  of  kind  offices  some 
times  as  well  as  poor  ones,"  I  answered.  "  If  that 
sick  boy  needs  his  dinner,  he  needs  it, — that's  all." 

She  hesitated  awhile  longer,  fidgeting  in  her  seat. 

"  I  tell  you  what,  Miss  Rossiter,  I'll  go  up,  if  you'll 
go  with  me.  You  just  go  along  and  tell  'em  what's 
what,  and  I'll  do  the  best  I  can  for  'em." 

It  was  my  turn  to  hesitate.  I  knew  just  exactly 
what  our  village  Mrs.  Grundy  would  say  of  Mar 
garet  Rossiter,  if  she  was  in  such  haste  to  make  the 
acquaintance  of  the  new-comers.  But  what  had  that 
to  do  with  the  question  ?  It  was  just  as  Patsy  had 
said.  Had  these  neighbors  of  mine  been  poor,  or 
had  they  been  women,  I  should  not  have  hesitated 
a  moment  to  go  frankly  to  welcome  them,  bearing 
the  cup  of  cold  water.  Was  neighborly  kindness, 
then,  a  question  of  circumstance  or  sex  ? 

"Can't  you  go  without  me,  Patsy?  I  am  very 
busy  to-day."  And  then  I  despised  myself  for  the 
subterfuge. 

"  No ;  they're  more  your  sort  of  folks  than  they 


EXPIATION.  ly 

are  mine,  Miss  Rossiter.  I'm  willing  to  help  'em  all 
I  can,  but  you  must  go  up  there  with  me,  and  tell  'em 
how  'tis." 

So  it  rested  with  me  whether  the  sick  boy  should 
have  a  Christian  dinner  set  before  him  that  day. 

I  rose,  put  away  my  work,  and  went  to  the  pantry. 
There  was  a  light,  covered  basket  there,  into  which  I 
put  divers  articles,  to  wit :  a  loaf  of  wheaten  bread,  a 
few  new-laid  eggs,  a  chicken  ready  for  the  gridiron, 
and  a  pat  of  butter.  Taking  these  with  us  as  a 
peace-offering,  we  started. 

"  If  they  don't  want  to  see  us,  and  ain't  civil,  we  can 
go  back  again,"  said  Patsy,  consolingly,  as  she  strode 
up  the  hill.  "  We  shall  have  done  our  duty,  anyhow." 

With  which  thought  I  strengthened  myself,  as  I 
followed  after. 

But  we  were  most  cordially  welcomed  by  Mr.  Arm 
strong,  who  came  out  upon  the  piazza  to  meet  us, — 
doubtless  with  a  suspicion  of  our  friendly  errand, — 
and  took  us  into  the  library.  There  we  found  Clyde, 
the  younger  son,  who  was  evidently  just  recovering 
from  a  severe  illness,  lying  upon  the  lounge,  pale  and 
exhausted ;  while  the  elder,  Kenneth,  was  trying  to 
arrange  a  palatable  meal  for  him  from  the  contents 
of  their  lunch-basket.  It  was  not  very  inviting. 

"  Wait  a  moment,"  I  said.  "  Here  is  something 
that  will  do  better,  perhaps."  And  I  lifted  the  cover 
from  mine.  "  There  is  a  fire  in  the  kitchen,  I  believe, 
and  Patsy  will  broil  this  chicken  for  you  in  a  trice." 

Clyde  thanked  me  with  his  eyes,  if  not  with  his 
voice ;  and,  seizing  the  basket,  Patsy  disappeared. 
Mr.  Armstrong  explained  their  awkward  dilemma 


T  g  EXP'IA  TION. 

by  saying  that,  not  caring  to  bring  servants  from  the 
city,  he  had  telegraphed  to  Mr.  Elliot's  agent  to 
make  all  necessary  arrangements ;  but  that,  on  reach 
ing  the  last  telegraph  station  on  the  way  up,  he  found 
the  dispatch  still  lying  there. 

"  Your  thoughtful  kindness,  madam,"  he  added, 
"  makes  us  comfortable  for  to-day,  and  I  hope  to  be 
able  to  make  all  needful  arrangements  to-morrow. 
We  are  greatly  your  debtors  for  your  prompt  neigh- 
borliness." 

"  If  you  feel  compelled  to  thank  any  one,"  I  an 
swered,  as  I  shook  up  Clyde's  pillows,  "it  should  be 
Patsy,  not  me.  She  made  the  suggestion  that  brought 
me  up  here." 

"  The  very  paragon  of  servants,"  he  replied,  smiling. 
"  Is  she  the  ram  avis  she  seems,  or  are  others  of  her 
kind  to  be  found  here  ?" 

"  Oh,  Patsy  is  not  a  servant,  sir,  in  your  accepta 
tion  of  the  word.  Your  agent  engaged  her  to  take 
charge  of  the  cleaning  and  arranging  of  the  house ; 
and  she  has  done  it.  But  she  has  a  comfortable  little 
home  of  her  own ;  and,  although  always  willing  to 
come  to  the  assistance  of  those  who  need  her  help, 
and  not  above  being  paid  for  her  good  offices,  she 
would  still  scorn  to  be  called  a  '  servant.'  " 

"I  understand,"  he  answered,  laughing,  "and  I 
assure  you  her  scruples  shall  be  respected.  Such 
characters  grow  out  of  this  mountain  soil  as  naturally 
as  do  its  pines  and  hemlocks." 

I  rose  to  go  ;  for  in  the  adjoining  room  I  heard  the 
dishes  rattling  under  Patsy's  rapid  hands,  and  I  knew 
the  chicken  was  nearly  ready  for  presentation.  But 


EXPIATION.  ig 

just  then  she  came  in  to  whisper  to  me  that,  although 
the  store-room  had  been  filled  in  advance,  salt  had 
been  unaccountably  forgotten. 

"  I  thought  maybe  they  might  have  a  little  in 
their  lunch-basket,"  she  answered  ;  "just  enough  for 
dinner." 

I  made  known  her  want,  and  it  was  supplied.  But 
as  she  was  leaving  the  room  with  it,  Mr.  Armstrong 
stopped  her. 

"  This  lady  informs  us  that  we  are  indebted  to  you 
for  a  warm,  homelike  dinner,  Miss — Miss " 

"  Patsy,"  she  said;  "just  Patsy.  Don't  put  any 
handle  onto  my  name,  sir ;  nobody  does." 

"  Well,  Patsy,  then.     How  can  I  best  thank  you  ?" 

"By  saying  nothing,  sir,  and  eating  the  chicken, 
which  is  done  to  a  turn."  And  out  she  bolted.  In 
a  second  she  put  her  head  in  at  the  door  again. 
"It's  allus  best  to  have  a  fair  understanding,  sir  ;  and 
I  want  to  have  you  know  that  I  ain't  a-looking  for  a 
place.  'Tain't  necessary.  I've  got  a  home  of  my 
own.  But  when  I  saw  how  pale  that  young  man 
looked,  I  thought  he  ought  to  have  something  warm 
to  eat,  and  that  I  ought  to  get  it  ready  for  him  ;  so 
I  came.  That's  all."  And  before  any  one  could 
reply  to  her,  the  door  closed,  and  she  was  off. 

And  that's  the  way  the  Armstrongs  had  their  first 
dinner  in  Altona,  and  made  the  acquaintance  of 
Patsy. 

She  consented  to  stay  with  them  for  a  few  days, 
until  they  could  make  other  arrangements ;  and  I 
began  to  foresee  that  they  would  find  it  hard  to  part 
with  her.  The  days  became  a  week,  and  the  week  had 


20  EXPIATION. 

lengthened  into  a  fortnight,  when  one  evening  she 
came  quietly  in  and  took  a  seat  without  a  word. 
Knowing  her  ways,  I  simply  nodded  to  her  and  went 
on  with  my  reading.  After  awhile  she  spoke. 

"  Miss  Rossiter,  what  do  you  think  is  up  now  ?" 

"  I  cannot  guess,  unless  Mr.  Armstrong  wants  you 
for  a  housekeeper,  or  something  of  that  sort." 

"  The  very  thing,"  she  said,  looking  up  suddenly. 
"  Who  told  you  ?" 

"  No  one ;  but  I  have  not  lived  in  Yankee-land  all 
my  days  for  nothing.  I  guessed  it." 

She  rocked  back  and  forth,  gazing  steadily  into 
the  fire  that  gleamed  and  sparkled  on  the  hearth. 

"  Miss  Rossiter,"  she  exclaimed,  at  last,  "  for  the 
land's  sake,  tell  me  what  to  do !  I'm  in  a  regular 
quandary." 

"  What  do  you  want  to  do  ?" 

"  That's  the  veiy  point.     I  don't  know." 

Now  Patsy  generally  knew  her  own  mind.  In 
decision  was  not  one  of  her  weaknesses.  So  I  waited 
awhile,  confident  that  I  should  soon  hear  more. 
Presently  she  went  on. 

"They're  just  the  nicest  folks  to  live  with  that 
ever  was,  Miss  Rossiter,  that's  a  fact !"  And  Patsy's 
hand  dropped  upon  her  knee  emphatically.  "  They 
know  what  they  want,  and  how  they  want  it ;  and 
when  they  get  it  they're  satisfied,  and  there  ain't  no 
grumbling.  I  hain't  got  no  fault  to  find  with  'em ; 
and  Mr.  Armstrong  says  he'll  pay  me  just  what  I 
say,  and  I  may  have  anybody  I  want  to  help  in  the 
kitchen  and  do  the  rough  work.  I  should  calculate 
to  do  the  cooking  myself,  pretty  much." 


EXPIA  TION.  2 1 

"  Aha,  Miss  Patsy !"  I  thought  to  myself,  "  you 
have  'pretty  much'  made  up  your  mind,  after  all." 
But  I  said, — 

"  Mr.  Armstrong  makes  you  a  very  fair  offer. 
Why  do  you  hesitate  about  accepting  it  ?" 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know,"  she  answered,  wheeling  round. 

"  There  are  some  things They're  queer — not  just 

like  other  folks.  I  don't  know  what  to  make  of  'em, 
sometimes." 

"  I  like  people  that  have  some  individuality,"  I 
answered.  "  Stereotyping  is  a  very  convenient  pro 
cess,  doubtless,  but  we  do  not  care  to  have  it  applied 
to  human  nature." 

Patsy  was  by  no  means  an  ignorant  person,  reader, 
notwithstanding  her  perpetual  warfare  with  Lindley 
Murray.  It  was  not  necessary  to  choose  one's  words 
or  figures,  lest  they  should  be  above  her  compre 
hension. 

"  That's  true,"  she  said.  "  I  thank  the  Lord  that 
he  didn't  make  us  all  after  one  pattern.  I  should 
get  sick  o'  living  quick  enough,  if  the  world  was  all 
made  up  of  Patsys !  But,  Miss  Rossiter,"  and  here 
she  lowered  her  voice,  "  that  ain't  what  I  mean.  It's 
more  than  that :  there's  something  kind  of  myste 
rious  about  'em." 

"  Nonsense,  Patsy  !"  I  said,  laughing.  "  Mysteries 
in  the  broad  daylight  of  this  nineteenth  century! 
Let  the  gossips  down  at  the  corners  talk,  if  they 
must,  but  do  you  keep  clear  of  their  fol-de-rol. 
You  and  I  are  old  enough  to  be  sensible." 

Patsy  did  not  reply  directly  to  my  words ;  but  her 
voice  sank  to  a  still  lower  key,  as  she  said, — 


22  EXPIATION. 

"What  ever  brought  'em  up  here,  Miss  Rossiter? 
That's  what  puzzles  me.  The  old  man's  as  uneasy 
as  a  fish  out  of  water;  anybody  can  see  that.  He 
ain't  used  to  this  quiet  sort  o'  life,  and  he  ain't  made 
for  it,  neither." 

"  But  that  is  neither  your  business  nor  mine,"  I 
answered,  virtuously  ignoring  all  my  own  queryings 
and  surmises.  "  Mr.  Armstrong  has  an  undoubted 
right  to  live  where  he  chooses." 

"  Yes ;  and  as  he  chooses  ;  and  I  don't  propose  to 
interfere  with  it.  But,  Miss  Rossiter,  there  was  some 
thing  queer  about  that  man's  last  wife,  just  as  sure 
as  you  live ;  about  her  life  or  death,  I  ain't  certain 
which." 

"  Why  do  you  think  so  ?" 

"  Oh,  I  don't  hardly  know ;  I  feel  it,  somehow. 
They  don't  never  speak  of  her,  for  one  thing ;  and 
one  day,  when  I  said  something  about  her,  Mr.  Arm 
strong  shut  me  up  mighty  quick  !" 

"  How  was  it?  Tell  me  about  it,"  I  said.  You 
see  my  curiosity  wanted  its  little  crumb  of  comfort, 
after  all. 

"  Oh,  I  was  in  the  library  one  day,  helping  Ken 
neth  hang  some  pictures  and  things.  They've 
brought  down  that  statoo  of  Eve,  Miss  Rossiter," 
she  added,  in  a  parenthesis,  "  and  put  it  right  on  that 
very  bracket;  did  you  ever?  But,  as  I  was  saying, 
we  was  hanging  up  pictures  and  things.  There  was 
a  portrait  of  Mr.  Armstrong,  and  one  of  his  first  wife, 
— that's  Kenneth's  mother ;  and,  naturally  enough,  I 
spoke  about  his  looking  so  much  like  it.  He's  got 
her  very  eyes  and  nose  and  hair,  and  the  way  his 


EXPIATION.  23 

head  is  sot  onto  his  shoulders  is  just  like  hern.  His 
mouth  is  firmer  and  more  set,  somehow ;  but,  take 
it  by  and  large,  it's  a  most  wonderful  likeness,  and  I 
said  so.  Then  I  said  to  Kenneth,  '  Clyde  must  be 
the  image  of  his  mother,  too,  for  he  don't  look  a  mite 
like  you,  nor  like  his  father.  There's  just  room  for 
her  picture  over  there,  on  'tother  side  o'  Mr.  Arm 
strong.'  Mercy !  Mr.  Armstrong  was  standing  by 
the  bookcase,  with  a  big  book  in  his  hand,  and  he 
dropped  it  as  if  he'd  been  shot.  I  never  saw  a  man's 
face  change  so  :  he  looked  blacker'n  a  thunder-cloud. 
Pretty  soon  he  went  out  into  the  sitting-room,  where 
Clyde  was,  and  shut  the  door  after  him;  and  Ken 
neth  whispered,  '  We  have  no  painting  of  Clyde's 
mother  to  hang  there,  Patsy.  Hand  me  that  Bea- 
trechy.'  And  then  I  handed  up  to  him  a  picture  of 
a  young  woman  with  great,  mournful  eyes,  and  a 
white  cloth  wrapped  round  her  head.  I  hain't  no 
idea  who  she  is.  Some  cousin,  most^  likely." 

"  But  what  about  Mr.  Armstrong  ?  You  said  he 
stopped  you." 

"  Oh,  yes.  He  came  back  in  a  minute  or  two  and 
motioned  to  Kenneth  to  go  out.  Then  he  said  to 
me,  just  as  solemn,  '  Patsy,  there  are  reasons  why  I 
wish  you  never  to  speak  of  Clyde's  mother, — espe 
cially  not  to  him,  nor  in  his  presence.  I  cannot  ex 
plain,  but  I  can  trust  you  to  observe  my  wishes,  can 
I  not?'  I  was  dumfounded,  as  it  were,  but  I  spoke 
up  and  said,  '  Yes,  sir,  you  can.  I  hope  I  know 
enough  to  hold  my  tongue  when  I'm  asked  to, 
civilly.'  He  smiled  just  a  little  bit :  I  saw  it  working 
round  the  corners  of  his  mouth ;  and  the  very  next 


24  EXPIATION. 

day  he  asked  me  if  I  wouldn't  stay  and  live  with  'em 
always.  I  told  him  '  always'  was  a  great  while,  and 
I  should  have  to  think  on't  for  a  spell ;  and  I  tell  you 
what,  Miss  Rossiter,  I've  kept  up  a  desperate  think 
ing  ever  sence." 

I  did  not  reply.  It  was  a  matter  in  which  I  did 
not  wish  to  advise  her ;  so  I  kept  silent. 

"Miss  Rossiter!" 

"What,  Patsy?" 

"  Kenneth  said  they  hadn't  got  no  picture  of 
Clyde's  mother  to  hang  there  on  the  t'other  side  of 
Mr.  Armstrong.  And  maybe  they  hain't, — not  to 
hang  just  there;  but  there's  a  picture  of  her  in  the 
house,  I'll  bet." 

"  Don't  be  too  suspicious,  Patsy." 

"  I  ain't ;  and  it's  nothing  to  me,  anyhow.  But  it's 
queer,  that's  all." 

"  What  makes  you  think  there  is  a  picture  of 
Clyde's  mother  in  the  house  ?" 

"  I'll  tell  you.  Was  you  ever  up  garret,  over 
there  ?"  And  she  nodded  her  head  in  the  right  direc 
tion. 

"  Never." 

"Well,  there's  a  little  narrow  closet  up  there. 
What  it  was  made  for  beats  me ;  just  to  accommo 
date  Mr.  Armstrong,  I  guess.  When  the  pictures 
came,  I  noticed  that  there  was  three  of  'em,  all  of  a 
size ;  each  one  wrapped  up  tight  in  some  old  blan 
kets,  so  that  the  frames  shouldn't  get  scratched. 
Two  o'  them  pictures  was  taken  into  the  library  and 
undid  ;  the  other  one  was  spirited  away  somewhere, 
out  o'  sight  and  hearing.  The  next  day  I  was  up 


EXPIATION.  25 

garret,  putting  away  things,  when  I  heard  somebody 
coming  slowly  up  the  stairs.  It  was  Mr.  Armstrong, 
with  that  third  picture.  He  went  straight  to  the 
little  closet,  as  if  he  had  studied  the  ground  before 
hand,  put  it  in  there  and  locked  the  door ;  then  he 
put  the  key  in  his  pocket  and  went  down-stairs  again. 
It  was  kind  o'  dark  up  there,  and  I  was  'way  off  in 
one  corner.  He  didn't  see  me  at  all ;  and  it  was  all 
done  in  a  minute,  or  I  should  have  showed  myself, 
for  I  ain't  no  spy  nor  eavesdropper.  Now,  Miss 
Rossiter,  what  do  you  think  ?" 

"  I  think  it  is  all,  as  you  say,  queer.  But  we  need 
not  suspect  evil  because  there  are  some  things  that 
we  cannot  comprehend." 

She  was  silent  for  some  time ;  then  she  got  up  and 
went  to  the  window. 

"  I'm  kind  o'  drawn  to  'em,  that's  a  fact,  Miss 
Rossiter ;  and  they  need  me, — that's  another  fact." 

I  smiled  to  myself,  but  said  nothing.  Very  soon 
she  went  on : 

"  I  sha'n't  be  bound  to  stay  there  no  longer'n  I 
have  a  mind  to.  I  guess  I'll  try  it  for  a  spell,  Miss 
Rossiter, — anyhow  till  Clyde  gets  strong  again.  He's 
had  an  awful  time,  they  say." 

"  Is  he  gaining?" 

"  Slowly.  But  you  never  saw  the  beat  of  the  way 
his  father  sticks  to  him  and  humors  him  and  pets 
him.  There's  nothing  in  the  house  that's  too  good 
for  that  boy,  you'd  better  believe ;  Kenneth's  no 
where  with  the  old  man  when  Clyde's  around.  And 
that's  pretty  much  always,  for  they  never  leave  him 
alone  a  minute." 

•J 


26 


EXPIATION. 


"  That  is  because  they  have  been  so  near  losing 
him,"  I  answered.  "He  is  hardly  out  of  the  valley 
of  death  yet,  you  must  remember." 

So  Patsy  found  a  tenant  for  the  little  house  that 
she  had  bought  and  paid  for  with  her  own  earnings, 
packed  up  her  rag  carpet,  and  stored  away  her  fur 
niture  ;  then  she  went  to  live  with  the  Armstrongs. 


CHAPTER    III. 

"  BENJAMIN  !  BENJAMIN  !" 

The  words  rang  out  sharply  and  querulously,  as 
if  born  of  inward  anguish.  Yet  there  was  an  infinite 
longing  in  them.  They  thrilled  me  from  head  to 
foot.  Leaving  my  seat  by  the  window,  where  I  had 
been  gazing  out  into  the  gathering  twilight,  I  ap 
proached  the  bed  on  which  Mr.  Armstrong  lay 
wrestling  with  disease,  mayhap  with  death. 

"  What  is  it,  Mr.  Armstrong  ?"  I  said,  as  I  bent 
over  him  and  moistened  his  lips  with  a  cordial.  "  Is 
there  anything  I  can  do  for  you  ?" 

"  Kenneth,"  he  said,  faintly ;  for  the  sudden  spasm 
of  strength  that  had  given  volume  to  his  voice  had 
expended  itself, — "  Kenneth.  I  want  Kenneth.  Has 
he  come?" 

"  Not  yet,  sir.  But  he  has  been  sent  for,  you  know. 
He  will  be  here  soon,  I  think." 

"  To-night  ?" 

"  I  hope  so ;  but  it  is  a  long  journey.  There  may 
be  delays  and  hindrances.  He  will  come  as  speedily 


EXPIATION.  27 

as  he  can,  I  know ;  for  the  message  was  urgent,  as 
you  requested." 

"  He  must  come  to-night,  or  it  will  be  too  late.  Miss 
Rossiter,  kneel  down  here  and  ask  the  God  you 
believe  in  to  let  me  live  a  little  longer, — till  I  can  see 
my  boy  again." 

He  looked  so  old  and  worn  !  It  was  pitiful  to  see 
him  lying  there  in  his  helplessness.  Was  this  the 
strong  man  who,  five  years  ago  when  he  first  came 
to  Altona,  had  carried  himself,  to  use  Patsy's  words, 
"  like  a  prince  of  the  blood"  ? 

He  repeated  the  request,  imploringly.  "  Pray  that 
I  may  live  until  Kenneth  comes.  I  must  live  !  I  will 
live,  Miss  Rossiter  !  But  the  struggle  is  hard,  hard. 
Pray  !" 

The  God  that  I  believed  in !  Did  not  he  believe  in 
Him  too?  I  asked  the  question. 

"  Yes,  yes ;  I  believe  that  there  is  a  God,  and  that 
He  hears  and  answers  prayer.  I  don't  believe  all  that 
you  do,  Miss  Rossiter,  but  I  believe  that.  So  ask 
Him  to  help  me  to  live  a  little  longer.  See  there  !" 
And  he  stretched  out  his  hand.  Purple  stains  were 
deepening  beneath  the  nails,  and  upon  his  face  was 
the  strange,  awful  grayness  that  is  the  sure  precursor 
of  death. 

I  knelt  by  his  side,  still  holding  the  aged  hand  in 
mine,  and  prayed.  It  was  a  simple  prayer,  dealing 
with  none  of  the  high  things  of  heaven  and  earth ; 
not  even  touching  upon  the  relation  between  that 
departing  soul  and  its  Creator.  I  only  asked  that 
Kenneth  might  come  while  yet  his  father  had  strength 
to  speak  to  him. 


28  EXPIATION. 

"  Thank  you,"  he  said,  as  my  voice  broke,  and  I 
rose  from  my  knees.  "  I  think  he  will  come." 

For  some  reason,  that  was  to  us  utterly  unaccount 
able,  Mr.  Armstrong  had,  ever  since  his  illness  be 
came  dangerous,  been  unwilling  to  have  Clyde  about 
him.  The  disease  was  not  contagious,  and  there  was 
no  apparent  cause  for  his  denying  himself  the  presence 
of  his  youngest  child, — his  Benjamin.  I  knew  that 
the  cry  I  had  heard  came  from  the  depths  of  a  yearn 
ing  heart;  and  I  knew,  too,  that  Clyde  was  wandering 
restlessly  about,  grieving  over  his  father's  seeming 
waywardness.  Just  then  I  heard  his  footsteps  in  the 
library  below. 

"  Clyde  is  down-stairs,"  I  said.  "  Shall  I  call  him 
up  ?  Poor  fellow  !  he  wants  to  be  with  you." 

A  spasm  passed  over  the  father's  face, — a  look  of 
unutterable  love  and  longing.  He  stretched  out  his 
arms  as  if  to  clasp  the  empty  air.  I  thought  he  was 
about  to  consent,  and  turned  toward  the  door ;  but 
he  stopped  me. 

"  No,"  he  said,  sharply.  "  Do  not  call  him.  And 
do  not  speak  of  it  again  :  it  tortures  me.  There  are 
reasons,  Miss  Rossiter.  I  must  not  see  him." 

I  said  no  more,  although  I  still  considered  his 
decision  a  half-delirious  whim.  Poor  old  man !  I 
judged  him  more  truly  after  awhile. 

The  shadows  darkened  in  the  room,  and  deepened 
upon  the  old  man's  face,  as  it  lay  there  upon  the 
pillow,  framed  in  by  his  silvery  hair.  It  had  grown 
so  white  during  these  five  years  !  Its  ebon  had  been 
just  touched  with  gray  when  he  first  came  to  Altona. 
Now  it  was  like  the  snow.  Down-stairs  I  heard 


EXPIA  TION. 


29 


Clyde's  restless  footsteps,  as  he  paced  back  and  forth, 
— now  in  the  library,  now  in  the  hall,  now  in  the 
parlor. 

After  awhile  Patsy  brought  in  a  shaded  lamp.  I 
was  glad  of  it,  for  the  darkness  was  growing  weird 
and  terrible. 

"  How  is  he  ?"  she  whispered,  as  she  placed  the 
light  behind  a  screen. 

"  Better,"  Mr.  Armstrong  answered,  in  a  strong, 
clear  voice.  "  Better ;  for  I  am  almost  through.  I 
am  only  waiting  for  Kenneth.  Has  he  come,  Patsy  ?" 

"  Not  yet,"  she  replied.  "  He  can't  come  till  ten 
o'clock,  sir.  Train  gets  into  Bloomfield  at  nine,  and 
it's  a  good  hour's  ride  from  there  here." 

He  did  not  answer  by  word,  or  look,  or  sign ;  his 
soul  was,  as  he  said,  just  waiting, — waiting  for  Ken 
neth.  I  watched  him  narrowly.  There  was  no 
weakness,  no  irresolution,  in  his  face  now.  That 
had  passed,  and  with  it  the  agony  of  death.  He  was 
biding  his  time  in  patient  submission,  sure  that  his 
indomitable  will  would  serve  him  to  the  end.  Once, 
as  I  gave  him  a  cordial,  he  smiled. 

"  It  is  not  necessary,"  he  said.  "  I  cannot  die  till 
Kenneth  comes.  What  time  is  it  ?" 

Nine  o'clock — half-past  nine — ten  !  The  face  I  had 
been  watching  so  long  changed  as  the  clock  struck. 
A  look  of  eagerness  and  unrest  took  the  place  of  its 
quiet  expectation. 

Five  minutes  more,  and  there  was  a  sound  of  wheels 
upon  the  gravelly  road,  an  opening  and  shutting  of 
doors,  Clyde's  voice,  Kenneth's.  Presently  I  heard 
footsteps  upon  the  stairs. 

3* 


-p  EXPIATION.  • 

I  opened  the  door.  Kenneth  stood  there — and 
Clyde.  The  father  saw  only  the  former. 

"  My  son !  my  son  !     Now  God  be  praised !" 

"  Father !" 

It  was  Clyde's  voice.  The  arms  that  had  been  out 
stretched  to  clasp  Kenneth  turned  at  the  sound,  and 
for  an  instant  the  younger  son  lay  upon  his  father's 
breast,  held  in  a  close  embrace. 

"  Let  me  stay,  father !"  he  cried.  "  I  cannot  leave 
you  again.  Kenneth,  I  must  stay !" 

"  Now,  may  God  help  us  both,  my  Clyde ;  but  you 
must  go  !  If  you  love  me — go  !" 

Without  a  word,  the  young  man  withdrew  himself 
from  his  father's  arms,  and  left  the  room.  I  followed, 
and  closed  the  door. 

We  went  down-stairs, — Clyde  and  I, — he  groping 
darkly,  although  the  hall  was  ablaze  with  light,  until 
I  took  his  hand  and  led  him  into  the  library.  Then, 
without  speaking,  or  even  looking  at  me,  he  sank 
into  a  chair  by  the  table,  and  dropped  his  head  upon 
his  folded  arms.  The  boy  was  bewildered.  He  had 
been  his  father's  constant  companion.  During  his 
twenty  years  of  life  he  had  received  from  him  only 
the  most  unchanging  tenderness,  the  most  unfailing 
sympathy.  For  the  last  five  years  they  had  been  in 
separable.  Kenneth,  soon  after  the  family  removed 
to  Altona,  had  returned  to  college ;  and  since  his 
graduation,  had  been  pursuing  his  medical  studies 
in  New  York.  But  Clyde  and  his  father  had  remained 
quietly  in  our  little  town  among  the  hills,  never 
leaving  it  save  for  occasional  excursions  to  points 
of  interest  in  the  vicinity.  They  had  read  together, 


EXPIATION.  31 

studied  together,  rode,  walked,  hunted,  and  fished  in 
company.  Discovering  that  his  son  possessed  a  taste 
for  horticulture  and  landscape-gardening,  and  an  en 
thusiastic  and  almost  womanly  love  for  flowers,  Mr. 
Armstrong  spared  no  pains  nor  expense  to  develop 
and  cultivate  that  taste,  to  gratify  that  love.  Under 
their  united  care  and  labor  the  grounds  about  "  Grey- 
holt" — for  so  Clyde  had  named  the  place,  out  of  rever 
ence  for  the  stately  forest-trees  that  sheltered  it  upon 
the  north — had  become  a  miracle  of  beauty.  At 
least  they  seemed  so  to  our  unaccustomed  eyes.  A 
small  conservatory,  with  a  fine  southern  exposure, 
had  been  added  to  the  house  ;  and  there  the  two  had 
spent  hours  each  day,  in  the  cultivation  of  rare  and 
costly  plants  that  could  not  endure  the  rigor  of  our 
northern  winters. 

Recollections  of  all  this  sweet  and  familiar  inter 
course  swept  over  me  as  I  looked  upon  the  boy's 
bowed  head,  and  a  wordless  pity  filled  my  heart. 
Wordless  ;  for  what  could  I  say  ?  I  could  not  explain 
his  father's  persistence  in  banishing  him  from  his 
room  and  presence ;  and  failing  of  that,  silence  was 
my  safest  resource.  So  we  sat  there  silently,  almost 
breathlessly,  while  occasionally  the  murmur  of  voices 
in  the  room  above  us  met  our  ears.  Once  in  awhile 
I  could  even  distinguish  Mr.  Armstrong's,  raised  for 
a  moment  in  some  stress  of  pain  or  excitement,  or 
Kenneth's  stronger  tones,  in  earnest  question  or  re 
sponse.  Then  all  was  silent.  Minute  after  minute 
passed,  each  seemingly  of  an  hour's  duration, — minute 
after  minute,  until  the  clock  struck  one. 

I  looked  at  Clyde.     He  still  sat  motionless,  with 


22  EXPIATION. 

his  face  buried  in  his  arms.  Perhaps  he  slept.  I 
hoped  so.  But  I  could  bear  that  awful  stillness  no 
longer.  Creeping  past  Clyde,  I  stole  up-stairs,  and 
tapped  gently  upon  that  closed  door.  There  was  no 
response.  I  laid  my  hand  upon  the  knob.  It  turned 
easily  in  my  clasp,  and  the  door  swung  noiselessly 
open. 

It  was  as  I  had  suspected :  Mr.  Armstrong  had 
gone.  But  there  was  no  sign  of  pain  or  struggle 
upon  the  face  that  met  my  gaze  as  I  entered,  and  the 
lamplight  fell  upon  the  massive  brow,  the  silvery  hair, 
and  flowing  beard.  It  was  as  calm  and  placid  as  an 
infant's,  yet  grand  and  awful  with  the  sublimity  of 
death. 

Kenneth  sat  by  the  bedside,  with  his  back  toward 
me,  and  his  head  bent  forward  upon  the  pillow  so 
that  the  dark  locks  mingled  with  the  white.  One 
arm  was  thrown  across  his  father's  breast.  The 
other  fell  listlessly  by  his  side,  but  in  the  hand  was 
clasped  a  folded  paper.  A  small  writing-desk  of  Mr. 
Armstrong's  stood  open  upon  a  chair  near  by,  and  a 
bunch  of  keys  lay  upon  the  carpet. 

I  stepped  forward  and  laid  my  hand  upon  Ken 
neth's  shoulder. 

"  Come  away,  dear  Kenneth,"  I  said ;  "  this  is  no 
place  for  you  now.  You  can  do  no  good  here,  and 
Clyde  needs  you." 

A  strong  shudder  swept  over  him,  as  he  lifted  his 
heavy  eyes  to  my  face. 

"  Clyde  ?"  he  said, — "  Clyde  ?"  in  a  vague,  bewil 
dered  sort  of  way.  "  Ah,  yes,  I  remember.  I  will 
go  down  to  him.  I  forgot.  It  is  all  so  new  and 


EXPIATION. 


33 


strange.  Yes,  I  will  go  down  to  him,  aunty.  God 
help  us  both !" 

You  will  perceive  that  my  relations  with  the  Arm 
strongs  had  long  since  passed  the  bounds  of  mere 
neighborliness,  and  grown  into  warm  and  earnest 
friendship.  Kenneth  and  Clyde  had  both  fallen  into 
the  habit  of  calling  me  "aunty,"  and  I  liked  it.  In 
my  somewhat  lonely  old-maidenhood, — for  I  was 
brotherless  and  sisterless, — it  did  me  good  to  have 
those  two  young  lives  claim  kinship  with  me.  This 
relationship  of  election,  of  affinity,  was  perhaps 
dearer  to  me  than  if  it  had  been  that  of  blood. 

Mechanically,  Kenneth  picked  up  the  keys,  locked 
the  desk,  and  restored  it  to  its  accustomed  place. 
Then  he  returned  to  the  bedside,  and  for  a  long 
minute  stood  gazing  upon  his  father's  placid  face. 
Stooping,  at  last,  he  pressed  his  fingers  upon  the 
already-closed  eyelids,  kissed  the  marble  brow,  and 
turned  away. 

"  Poor  Clyde !"  he  said,  with  a  long,  weary  breath. 
"  Yes,  aunty,  I  must  go  down  to  him." 


EXPIATION. 


CHAPTER    IV. 

"WHERE  is  he?"  he  said,  as  we  descended  the 
stairs. 

"  In  the  library." 

But  he  did  not  go  there  at  once.  Pausing  at  the 
foot  of  the  staircase,  he  looked  irresolutely  at  the 
folded  paper  he  still  held,  turning  it  over  and  over. 
Then  he  said, — 

"Aunty,  can  you  get  me  an  envelope  and  some 
sealing-wax  without  disturbing  Clyde  ?" 

"  I  saw  some  in  the  parlor  yesterday,"  I  answered, 
"  and  pens  and  ink,  too." 

He  took  a  small  lamp  from  the  table,  motioning  for 
me  to  follow  him. 

He  put  the  paper  in  an  envelope,  and  sealed  it  with 
his  own  seal.  Then  he  took  a  pen,  and  after  a 
moment's  thought,  during  which  his  head  dropped 
wearily  upon  his  hand,  he  wrote  as  follows  : 

"  Kenneth  Armstrong. — In  case  of  his  death,  this 
paper  is  to  be  burned  unopened." 

Taking  up  the  lamp,  he  said, — 

"  Come  with  me." 

I  followed  him  into  a  small  room,  between  the 
dining-room  and  the  library,  where  the  large  safe 
was  standing. 

"  Hold  the  light,  please,*  he  said.  And  I  stood  by 
while  he  unlocked  the  triple  doors  and  deposited  the 
paper  in  the  innermost  recess.  Then  he  relocked  the 


EXPIATION. 


35 


safe.  A  noise  in  the  dining-room  startled  me, — 
every  noise  startled  me  that  night, — and  I  stepped  to 
the  door,  which  stood  ajar.  It  was  only  Dennis,  re 
plenishing  the  fire. 

He  touched  his  hat,  after  his  usual  fashion. 

"  And  how  is  it  with  the  masther  now,  yer  honor?" 
he  asked,  in  a  low  voice. 

"  Your  master  is  dead,"  I  answered;  and  then  in 
terrupting  him,  as  he  crossed  himself  and  com 
menced  to  pour  forth  a  torrent  of  "  God  rest  his 
sowls,"  and  "  Howly  mother,  have  mercys,"  I  bade 
him  tell  Patsy,  who  would  see  that  everything  needful 
was  done. 

I  went  back  to  Kenneth,  and,  as  the  rays  from  the 
lamp  I  held  fell  full  upon  his  face,  I  was  alarmed  by 
its  unearthly  paleness.  It  was  blanched  to  the  hue 
of  the  grave.  The  dead  face  up-stairs  was  not  as 
white,  not  as  ghastly. 

Putting  down  the  lamp,  I  laid  a  hand  upon  either 
arm,  and  pushed  him  with  gentle  violence  toward  a 
large  easy-chair  that  stood  near. 

"  Wait  a  moment,"  I  said.  "  You  must  not  go  to 
Clyde  with  such  a  face  as  that.  Sit  here  while  I 
bring  you  a  glass  of  wine.  You  are  worn  out  with 
your  long  ride,  and  the  excitement  of  this  sad  coming 
home.  Have  you  had  any  supper  to-night  ?" 

He  shook  his  head. 

"  I  thought  not.  Promise  me  that  you  will  not 
stir  till  I  come  back." 

He  assented,  mutely.  When  I  returned,  with  a 
small  tray  of  refreshments,  I  found  him  lying  back 
in  the  chair  in  a  dead  faint 


36  EXPIATION. 

My  first  thought  was  to  call  Patsy.  With  my 
second,  came  the  conviction  that  I  had  better  call  no 
one.  That  this  exceeding  emotion,  that  had  shaken 
the  strong  man  like  a  reed,  grew  out  of  Kenneth's 
interview  with  his  father  and  had  some  connection 
with  the  paper  I  had  seen  placed  in  the  safe,  I  could 
not  doubt.  Vigorous,  stalwart  young  men  of  three- 
and-twenty  do  not  faint  at  the  death  of  parents,  be 
they  loved  ever  so  fondly.  This  was  something  more 
than  ordinary  filial  sorrow.  Whatever  it  might  be, 
I  would  shield  it  from  all  curious  eyes. 

Fortunately,  restoratives  were  near  at  hand,  and  in 
a  few  moments  I  had  the  satisfaction  of  seeing  him 
revive.  In  a  quarter  of  an  hour  he  was  able  to  sit 
up  and  take  a  little  of  the  food  I  had  prepared  for 
him. 

"  You  are  not  quite  so  ghastly  now,"  I  said,  re 
moving  the  tray.  "  Dear  Kenneth,  you  must  be 
strong, — for  Clyde's  sake." 

"  Yes  ;  for  Clyde's  sake,"  he  answered.  "  Let  us 
go  and  find  him." 

We  went  into  the  library,  but  he  was  not  there ; 
nor  in  hall,  nor  in  parlor,  nor  in  dining-room,  nor 
in  kitchen.  Up-stairs  in  the  room,  I  heard  the  voices 
and  footsteps  of  those  who  were  making  our  dead 
ready  for  the  grave,  and  I  knew  it  was  in  vain  to  look 
for  him  there.  I  went  into  all  the  other  chambers ; 
he  was  in  none  of  them.  When  I  made  my  report, 
Kenneth  and  I  looked  into  each  other's  faces  in 
blank  amaze. 

"  Now,  don't  you  worry,"  said  Patsy,  coming  to 
the  rescue  with  her  strong  common  sense.  "  He's 


EXPIA  TION. 


37 


just  stepped  out  to  get  a  breath  o'  fresh  air,  most 
likely.     He'll  be  in  in  a  minute  or  two." 

But  the  minute  or  two  passed,  and  he  did  not 
come  in. 

"  The  young  masther  might  chance  to  be  in  the 
conservatory,  yer  honor,"  said  Dennis,  who  had  been 
called  into  council. 

It  was  most  improbable 'that  he  would  be  there,  at 
this  hour  of  the  night,  or  rather  of  the  morning,  for 
it  was  now  past  two  o'clock ;  but,  nevertheless,  I 
followed  Dennis's  suggestion.  The  moonbeams 
streamed  in  through  the  glass  roof,  the  little  fountain 
played  musically  in  the  centre  of  the  room,  the  roses 
and  heliotropes  filled  the  soft,  summer-like  air  with 
fragrance,  ftie  balmy  breath  of  violets  welcomed  me. 
All  was  quiet,  peaceful,  and  serene.  The  place  had 
no  human  tenant. 

"  He  has  gone  out  into  the  night,"  said  Kenneth, 
as  I  returned  to  the  library.  "  We  must  find  him." 

"  Now,  Kenneth,"  interrupted  Patsy,  laying  her 
strong,  helpful  hand  upon  his  arm,  "  you're  not  going 
to  stir  a  peg.  You  look  fit  to  drop  this  very  minute. 
Dennis  and  I'll  go,  and  we'll  find  him  in  a  jiffy." 

When  Patsy  first  took  up  her  abode  at  Greyholt, 
she  had  faithfully  tried,  as  she  said,  "to  put  a  handle 
onto  them  boys'  names."  But  one  day  she  gave  up 
in  despair. 

"  It's  no  use,  boys,''  she  said,  laughing ;  "  I  can't  do 
it.  I  ain't  used  to  it,  nohow.  If  I  say  '  Mister 
Kenneth'  to-day,  I  forget  it  to-morrow.  I  shall 
have  to  give  up  trying,  I  guess,  for  I  feel  as  if  I  was 
making  a  fool  of  myself." 

4 


^g  EXPIATION. 

And  plain  "  Kenneth"  and  "  Clyde"  it  had  been 
ever  since,  quite  to  the  content  of  "  the  boys"  as  well 
as  herself;  for  they  were  not  over-sensitive  with  re 
gard  to  the  matter,  and  her  awkward  attempts  at 
wearing  an  unaccustomed  livery  had  afforded  them 
infinite  amusement. 

"  Get  your  lantern,  Dennis,"  I  said,  without  giving 
Kenneth  a  chance  to  reply.  "  The  moon  is  behind 
the  clouds  half  the  time.  Patsy,  you  must  stay  here 
with  Kenneth.  The  people  up-stairs  may  need  you. 
I  will  go  with  Dennis  myself." 

There  was  some  demurring,  but  I  carried  my  point; 
and  by  the  time  Dennis  appeared  with  his  lantern,  I 
was  ready. 

It  was  a  whole  hour  before  we  found  Clyde  Arm 
strong.  We  went  here,  there,  everywhere:  in  the 
woods  back  of  the  house,  down  by  the  creek,  followed 
the  windings  of  the  one  irregular  village  street,  and 
finally  thought  of  the  big  rock  in  the  hill-pasture. 

"  Bedad,  Miss  Rossiter,  and  does  yer  honor  think 
the  young  masther  has  been  spirited  away  ?"  said 
Dennis,  at  last,  as  he  sat  down  on  a  large  stone  for  a 
minute.  "  Indade,  I  had  best  run  down  to  the  village, 
me  lady,  an'  knock  upon  the  doors,  and  rouse  up  all 
the  payple  at  once't.'" 

"  No,  no,  Dennis,  that  won't  do  at  all,"  I  answered, 
for  I  so  dreaded  village  gossip.  "  We  \wll  go  home 
now ;  and  if  your  young  master  is  not  there,  we  will 
see  what  can  be  done  next." 

He  helped  me  down  into  the  road,  for  the  way  was 
rough,  and  then  we  walked  rapidly  on.  Suddenly 
my  companion  spoke. 


EXPIA  TION. 


39 


"By  the  powers,  Miss  Rossiter,  but  will  yer  honor 
look  yonder?" 

The  moon  favored  us  at  that  instant,  and,  following 
the  direction  of  his  finger,  I  saw  Clyde  sitting  high 
up  on  a  jutting  rock  above  the  dam,  with  his  feet 
almost  in  the  water,  that  was  rushing  swiftly  to  its  fall. 
He  seemed  to  be  a  target  for  the  moonbeams  just 
then,  and  his  whole  person  and  face  were  irradiated. 
He  looked  so  strangely  in  that  weird  light  that  I 
thought  of  somnambulism  and  I  know  not  what. 

"  Now  may  the  saints  preserve  us!  But  how  will 
we  get  at  him  ?"  asked  Dennis.  "  Feth,  but  the  lad 
looks  like  an  angel !  Ye  can  see  the  glory  in  his 
hair." 

It  was  a  beautiful  picture;  but  it  occurred  to  me 
that  we  had  no  time  to  spend  in  admiration. 

"We  must  get  him  home,"  I  said.  "There  is  no 
time  to  lose.  Dennis,  go  round  to  the  foot  of  the 
dam  and  look  up.  I  think  there  are  steps  on  that 
side :  loose  stones,  by  which  he  got  up  there.  But 
don't  you  go  near  him  without  me ;  mind,  now." 

"  Indade,  and  I'll  do  yer  honor's  bidding.  God 
bless  me  soul,  but  the  lad  looks  like  a  wraith." 

I  do  not  know  what  I  feared,  but  my  heart  almost 
stopped  beating  as  Dennis  crept  round  upon  the 
rocks.  I  half  expected  that  if  Clyde  caught  a  glimpse 
of  him  he  would  give  one  leap  into  the  swirling, 
seething  waters  below.  I  knew  that  he  had  suffered 
intensely  during  these  last  few  days ;  I  knew  that  his 
nature  was  impulsive,  passionate,  and  that  with  him 
the  deed  was  apt  to  come  first,  the  thought  afterward. 
I  did  not  know  to  what  wild  act  he  might  be  driven 


40  EXPIATION. 

by  the  agony,  the  long  suspense,  of  that  night.  Cer 
tainly  it  could  have  been  only  in  a  moment  of  semi- 
madness  that  he  had  wandered  off  in  this  way  and  at 
this  hour. 

Presently  Dennis  came  back  and  reported.  He 
could  reach  the  spot  where  Clyde  was  sitting,  easily 
enough,  but  he  doubted  whether  the  "  fut  of  a  lady" 
could  succeed  in  climbing  there.  Meanwhile  Clyde 
looked  straight  at  us  as  we  stood  in  the  shadow,  but 
did  not  notice  us.  Occasionally  he  threw  a  stick  or 
a  stone  into  the  stream,  but  for  the  most  part  he  sat 
motionless,  gazing  off  into  infinite  space,  or  down  into 
the  whirling  waters.  Perhaps,  after  all,  I  had  better 
not  approach  him,  and  Dennis  could  do  the  work 
better  than  I;  so  I  bade  him  go  on,  cautioning  him 
against  precipitancy  on  the  one  hand,  and  too  great 
delay  upon  the  other. 

He  nodded  understandingly ;  and  pretty  soon  I 
heard  him  call  out,  in  the  most  matter-of-fact,  com 
monplace  way  imaginable, — 

"Misther  Clyde,  wud  yer  honor  be  plased  to  de- 
scind  for  a  bit  ?  Miss  Rossiter  wud  like  to  be  spakin' 
wid  ye ;  and,  faith,  this  is  but  an  onconvaynient  place 
for  a  lady." 

All  the  while  he  was  scrambling  up  the  rocks  faster 
and  faster,  and  by  the  time  he  had  done  speaking  he 
was  by  Clyde's  side,  with  his  hand  on  his  shoulder. 
My  breath  came  freely  again,  for  the  danger,  if  there 
had  been  any,  was  over.  The  young  man  rose  slowly, 
passed  his  hand  over  his  eyes  as  if  to  clear  his  vision, 
and  came  quietly  down  from  his  airy  perch. 

If  there  had  been  any  danger.  I  do  not  know  to  this 


EXPIATION.  4I 

day  whether  there  was  any  or  not.  There  was  a 
strange,  unnatural  look  in  Clyde's  eyes  as  he  joined 
me,  and,  with  all  his  native  courtesy,  drew  my  arm 
within  his.  But  he  uttered  never  a  syllable.  Neither 
did  I ;  but  I  strode  over  that  ground  at  a  pace  I  had 
never  equaled  before.  To  get  my  charge  home  and 
into  bed  was  the  acme  of  my  wishes. 

He  asked  no  questions, —  never  mentioned  his 
father  or  Kenneth.  As  we  neared  the  gate  I  managed 
to  convey  a  whispered  message  to  Dennis's  ear  that 
sent  him  on  at  a  rapid  rate.  I  bade  him  see  that  the 
coast  was  clear,  and  say  that  I  thought  it  was  not  best 
that  any  one  should  see  Clyde  that  night. 

When  we  went  into  the  house,  all  was  still  and 
dark  and  quiet, — as  I  hoped  to  find  it.  One  small 
lamp  burned  in  the  hall. 

"  It  must  be  getting  late,"  I  said,  in  the  most  un 
concerned  way.  "  I  suppose  it  is  bedtime.  Take  this 
light,  Clyde,  and  I  will  find  another." 

"  Good-night,"  he  answered,  and  went  up-stairs. 

I  heard  him  go  into  his  room.  Then  I  stole  softly 
to  the  door  and  listened  there  until  I  heard  him  get 
into  bed,  and  the  light  ceased  to  shine  through  the 
keyhole. 

Kenneth  and  Patsy  were  waiting  for  me  in  the 
kitchen. 

"  Well,  if  this  don't  beat  the  very  Dutch  !"  said  the 
latter,  wiping  her  eyes.  "  Dennis  has  told  us  where 
you  found  him.  That  he  should  have  gone  there 
to-night,  of  all  nights  in  the  year !" 

Kenneth  rose  wearily.  "  We  won't  talk  about 
it,"  he  said.  "  And,  Patsy,"  he  continued,  "  we  will 

4* 


42  EXPIA  TION. 

say  nothing  of  this  to  Clyde  to-morrow ;  it  is  not 
best." 

"  I  agree  with  you  there,"  she  answered ;  " '  least 
said  is  soonest  mended,'  'most  allus,  to  my  thinking. 
But  come  now,  children,  we  must  go  to  bed," — I  had 
slept  at  Greyholt  for  a  few  nights, — "  it's  e'en-a'most 
daylight  a'ready.  The  world  don't  stand  still,  if  folks 
do  go  out  of  it,  and  the  hours  go  on  just  the  same 
whether  we  live  or  die.  Breakfast'll  have  to  be  got 
to-morrow  morning,  and  eaten,  just  as  if  nothing  had 
happened." 

She  took  her  light  and  went  off. 

When  we  met  around  the  breakfast-table,  at  a  late 
hour  the  next  morning,  Clyde  made  no  allusion  what 
ever  to  the  events  of  the  night  before.  Some  inward 
consciousness  must  have  told  him  that  his  father  was 
dead.  No  questions  were  asked,  and  no  information 
was  volunteered.  But  as  we  rose  from  the  table,  he 
asked,  simply, — 

"  Where  is  he  ?" 

"  In  his  own  room,"  answered  Kenneth.  And  as 
Clyde,  with  a  slow  step,  turned  towards  the  stairs, 
his  brother  followed  him. 

"  No,"  said  Clyde,  "  I  must  go  alone.  You  had 
him  last  night ;  I  must  have  him  now." 

Kenneth  turned  back  without  a  word.  But  after 
Clyde  had  entered  that  darkened  chamber,  and  closed 
the  door  behind  him,  he  stole  softly  up-stairs  and 
kept  watch  there  silently,  listening  intently  for  every 
sound. 


EXPIA  TION. 


CHAPTER   V. 

"  THEY  say  the  old  man  didn't  leave  no  will." 
It  was  the  week  after  the  funeral.  I  had  gone  down 
to  the  village  store  to  get  two  yards  of  brown  alpaca 
to  match  a  dress  which  was  undergoing  repairs.  A 
chill  north  wind  swept  through  the  valley.  Doors 
and  windows  were  closed,  and  the  building  was  filled 
with  that  indescribable  combination  of  odors  that  be 
longs  to  a  country  store,  and  to  that  alone, — codfish, 
molasses,  dried  herring,  tea,  coffee,  spices,  tobacco, 
leather,  hams,  and  camphor.  Out  of  the  strange 
conglomeration,  my  sensitive  nose  singled  each  sepa 
rate  odor  and  gave  it  due  credit.  A  counter  ran 
along  each  side  of  the  front  room.  Upon  the  right 
were  the  "  dry-goods,"  which  comprehensive  term 
included  everything,  from  a  counterpane  to  a  ball  of 
candle-wick  ;  from  the  oranges  and  scarlets  and  blues 
— the  bright  plaids  and  gay  ribbons  with  which  our 
belles  were  wont  to  adorn  themselves — to  the  sober 
browns  and  sombre  blacks,  which  were  the  "  only 
wear"  of  their  mothers  and  grandmothers ;  from  the 
broadcloth  of  the  judge  to  the  satinet  of  the  plow- 
boy. 

On  the  opposite  side,  the  shelves  groaned  beneath 
the  weight  of  crockery ;  and  farther  down  were  boots, 
shoes,  kegs  of  nails,  brooms,  mop-sticks,  and  a  motley 
collection  of  tinware  and  Yankee  notions.  In  the 


44  EXPIATION. 

back-room — but  we  will  penetrate  no  farther,  lest 
we  should  lose  our  way  among  the  plows,  the  wash- 
tubs,  the  barrels,  the  baskets,  the  salt-sacks. 

In  the  middle  of  the  front  room  stood  a  rusty  stove, 
with  a  wooden  bench  upon  either  side ;  and  upon  the 
benches  sat  two  men — whittling. 

"  They  say 't  the  old  man  didn't  leave  no  will." 

These  words  met  my  ear  as  I  bent  over  the  counter 
comparing  the  brown  alpaca  with  the  sample  I  held 
in  my  hand. 

"  Ain't  none  needed,  as  I  knows  on,"  was  the  an 
swer.  "  What  was  the  use  of  makin'  one  ?  There's 
jest  them  two  boys,  and  of  course  they'll  share  and 
share  alike." 

"  Mebbe  you're  right,  squire ;  I  don't  say  't  you 
ain't  right.  But  I'm  got  a  kind  of  a  prejudice  in 
favor  o'  wills.  It  allus  seemed  to  be  a  sort  o'  solemn 
and  dignified  way  o'  windin'  up  a  man's  airthly  con- 
sarns." 

"  Have  you  made  yourn,  major?" 

"  Law,  no,  squire !  I  hain't  yet.  It  would  seem 
kind  o'  like  signin'  my  death-warrant.  But  I'm 
a-goin'  to  make  one  afore  I  die.  You  see,"  he 
added,  lowering  his  voice  a  little,  "  I  want  to  leave 
something  to  Mehitable's  children ;  mine'll  have 
enough." 

"  I've  heard  of  sinners  that  calculated  on  repentin' 
before  they  died,"  said  the  squire,  thoughtfully.  "  But 
somehow  they  didn't  seem  to  get  at  it.  Shouldn't 
wonder,  now,  if  it  was  about  the  same  thing  with 
makin'  wills.  Mebbe  the  old  man  calculated  on 
makin'  one,  but  Death  was  too  quick  for  him." 


EXPIA  TION. 


45 


Here  a  man  in  a  gray  overcoat,  who  had  been 
hanging  over  the  counter  on  the  opposite  side,. sur 
reptitiously  possessing  himself  of  raisins  from  a  box 
that  stood  temptingly  near,  sauntered  up  and  flung 
himself  upon  the  wooden  settee  by  the  side  of  "  the 
major." 

"Talkin"  about  old  Mr.  Armstrong's  will?"  he 
asked.  "  It  seems  to  be  the  general  'pinion  that  he 
didn't  leave  none,  don't  it?" 

"  Hain't  been  any  found,"  said  the  squire,  senten- 
tiously. 

He  of  the  overcoat  leaned  forward,  and  rested  his 
elbows  upon  his  knees. 

"  Don't  believe  but  what  there  is  one — or  was  one, 
nevertheless  and  notwithstanding"  said  he.  "  Tain't 
no  ways  likely  that  Mr.  Armstrong  left  all  that  'are 
property  without  givin'  no  hints  about  where  he 
wanted  it  to  go  to." 

"  He  wanted  it  to  go  to  his  two  boys,  of  course," 
said  the  squire,  buttoning  up  his  coat.  "  And  they'll 
have  it:  so  what's  the  use  o'  speculatin'  about  it, 
Tom  Bradshaw  ?  'Tain't  any  of  our  consarns." 

"  Hold  on  a  minute,  squire,"  was  the  cool  reply. 
"  Don't  go  to  puttin'  on  airs.  I've  got  a  word  to  say 
on  this  p'int.  Where  did  the  old  man  get  his  money, 
now  ?  Have  you  any  idee  ?" 

"  Worked  for  it,  I  s'pose,"  said  the  squire.  "  He 
was  a  right  down  good  sort  of  a  man,  Mr.  Armstrong 
was, — not  stuck  up  a  bit.  He's  told  me  many  a  time 
how  he  used  to  drive  team  when  he  was  a  boy,  and 
how  rich  he  felt  when  he  aimed  his  first  silver  quarter." 

"  He  got  his  money,"  said  Mr.  Tom   Bradshaw, 


46  EXPIA  TION. 

slowly,  measuring  off  his  words  with  a  tap  of  his 
forefinger,  —  "  he — got — his — money — from — that — 
last — wife — o' — his'n.  D'ye  see  the  p'int  now  ?" 

"  You  don't  say  so  !"  exclaimed  the  major. 

"  Well,  what  if  he  did  ?"  rejoined  the  squire.  "  No, 
I  don't  see  the  p'int.  It  don't  alter  the  case  a  mite, 
not  as  I  can  see." 

"  Why,  Clyde  was  the  last  woman's  child,"  Mr. 
Bradshaw  went  on,  excitedly.  •"  And  if  the  property 
came  through  her,  Kenneth  hain't  no  right  to  it, 
don't  you  see  ?  I  kind  o'  mistrust  there's  been  mis 
chief  a-brewin'  somewhere." 

"  So  do  I,"  said  the  major.  "  You  see,  squire,  I 
never  sot  much  store  by  the  Armstrongs,  anyhow. 
They're  a  queer  set.  It  stands  to  reason  when  folks 
spend  money  after  their  style  that  'twa'n't  got  by  no 
hard  labor.  Easy  come,  easy  go.  Why,  I've  known 
o'  the  old  man's  givin'  more  for  one  single  root  to 
put  in  that  'are  glass  play-house  o'  theirn,  than  it 
takes  to  keep  my  folks  in  groceries  the  year  round !" 
And  here  the  speaker  spat  energetically,  but  with  a 
discontented  air. 

"But  did  that  make  you  any  poorer,  neighbor?" 
asked  the  squire.  "  It  didn't  hurt  me  any." 

"  Look  a-here,  squire,"  said  Mr.  Bradshaw,  bring 
ing  his  hand  down  heavily  upon  his  companion's 
knee.  "  You  jest  look  a-here.  I  believe  there's  lots 
o'  deviltry  goin'  on  in  this  'ere  world,  and  that  there's 
a  snug  little  nest-egg  right  here  in  Altona." 

"  Hain't  the  least  doubt  o'  that,"  retorted  the  squire. 
"  Never  had.  Folks  born  and  bred  in  Altona  ain't  no 
better  'n  other  folks." 


EXPIA  TION. 


47 


"  But  look  a-here,  squire ;  you  won't  let  me  tell 
you.  I  want  to  jest  state  the  case.  Things  ain't  done 
in  this  'ere  world  without  a  reason,  squire;  not  with 
out  a  reason." 

"  Things  shouldn't  be  said  without  a  reason,  neither, 
Bradshaw.  Come,  let's  go  home.  I  guess  my  grist 
is  ground  by  this  time." 

"  I  don't  calculate  to  say  nothing  without  a  reason. 
Now,  squire,  hold  on  just  a  minute.  I've  been  told 
by  them  that  know,  that  all  the  while  the  old  man 
was  sick  he  wouldn't  let  Clyde  come  near  him,  but 
he  was  in  a  perfect  panic  to  have  t'other  one  come 
home.  The  day  't  he  died,  he  was  struck  with  death 
in  the  forenoon,  but  he  was  bound  he  wouldn't  give 
up  the  ship  till  he'd  seen  Kenneth.  And  he  didn't. 
He  jest  lived  right  along  till  he  come ;  and  then  they 
was  closeted  for  more'n  two  hours." 

"  I'm  glad  the  boy  got  there,"  said  the  squire, 
softly. 

"  But  I  hain't  got  through,"  continued  Mr.  Brad 
shaw.  "  You  keep  a-interruptin'  me.  Now,  look 
a-here  !  I  don't  want  to  make  nor  meddle.  But  jest 
as  true  as  you're  alive,  the  breath  wa'n't  hardly  out  o' 
his  father's  body  before  Kenneth  was  down-stairs, 
a-meddlin'  with  the  big  safe  and  rummagin'  round 
among  the  papers — before  they'd  laid  the  old  man 
out,  or  he'd  told  Clyde,  or  anything.  That's  a  fact, 
squire.  You  needn't  look  so — so — incredoolous. 
I- 

"  You — what  ?     How  do  you  know  this  ?" 

"  I — I — was  told  by  them  that  knows." 

"  Well,  then,  I  guess  we'll  quit  and  go  home.  Tom 


48 


EXPIA  TION. 


Bradshavv,  do  you  jest  keep  that  mouth  o'  yourn  shet. 
That's  the  best  piece  o'  advice  't  I  can  give  ye."  And 
the  squire  strode  off 

This  conversation  took  place  while  I  was  choosing 
my  alpaca  and  matching  twist  and  sewing-silk.  Prob 
ably,  as  I  was  a  near  neighbor  of  the  Armstrongs,  and 
was  known  to  be  a  friend  also,  my  presence  would 
have  checked  the  speakers  had  they  been  aware  of 
it.  But  I  was  muffled  in  cloak  and  hood  and  stood 
directly  behind  them.  They  did  not  recognize  me. 
Taking  up  my  bundle,  I  started  for  home. 

I  was  not  surprised  at  the  revival  of  the  gossip  with 
which  Altona  had  so  refreshed  herself  five  years  pre 
viously.  A  man's  death  sets  all  tongues  wagging, 
and  it  is  always  easy  to  cast  stones  at  the  dead  lion. 
In  this  case  there  were  peculiarities  that  gave  some 
ground  for  gossip.  The  floating  rumors  with  regard 
to  Clyde's  mother,  the  strange  woman  who  was  buried 
in  Greenwood,  and  whose  picture  I  knew,  though  they 
did  not,  was  stowed  away  in  the  closet  in  the  garret ; 
the  isolated  life  led  by  Mr.  Armstrong  and  Clyde ; 
the  fact  that  they  went  nowhere,  and  that  hardly  one 
of  their  old  friends  had  visited  them  in  their  seclu 
sion;  their  free  expenditure  of  money,  which  to  the 
old  farmers  about  them,  accustomed  only  to  steady 
labor  and  scanty  gains,  seemed  almost  fabulous,  and 
to  their  hard-working  wives  even  criminal, — all  these 
gave  scandal  a  foothold  upon  which  to  totter  if  it  could 
not  stand.  The  truth  was  that  Mr.  Armstrong  and 
his  sons  did  not  live  luxuriously.  They  were  no 
Sybarites.  Crumpled  rose-leaves  did  not  disturb  their 
repose.  But  Altona  was  determined  to  see  in  simple 


EXPIATION. 


49 


affluence  immense  revenues;  in  culture,  taste,  and  re 
finement,  unheard-of  luxury;  in  a  free  and  generous 
style  of  living,  wonderful  prodigality.  And  what  she 
was  determined  to  see,  as  is  usually  the  case,  she  saw. 

Yet  Mr.  Armstrong's  utterly  blameless  life  had, 
after  awhile,  disarmed  criticism,  and  silenced  gossip  ; 
or,  if  it  spoke,  it  was  in  whispers  only.  Now  that  he 
was  dead,  I  was  not  surprised  that  his  affairs  should 
be  discussed  and  re-discussed,  and  that  some  of  the 
old  stories  should  be  re-told.  This  was  no  more  than 
was  to  be  expected.  But  when  Mr.  Tom  Bradshaw 
spoke  of  Kenneth's  visit  to  the  safe,  I  was  startled. 
How  did  he  know  of  it  ?  I  remembered  that  I  had 
heard  Dennis  in  the  dining-room  that  night ;  but  I 
was  sure  he  had  not  seen  Kenneth.  And  if  he  had 
seen  him,  good,  faithful  fellow  that  he  was,  what 
motive  could  he  have  had  for  pouring  the  story  into 
Tom  Bradshaw's  ears  ?  The  idea  was  preposterous. 

This  Tom  Bradshaw  had  at  one  time  been  in  Mr. 
Armstrong's  employ,  and  had  been  summarily  dis 
charged  ;  why,  I  knew  not. 

Pondering  all  these  things  in  my  head,  I  went  home, 
got  my  supper,  and  sat  down  to  my  evening  work. 
About  eight  o'clock  Patsy  came  in. 

"  Miss  Rossiter,"  she  said,  after  she  had  toasted  her 
feet  for  awhile,  "  I  wish  I  knew  what  those  boys  was 
a-going  to  do." 

"  Do  ?"  I  repeated.  "  What  do  you  mean  ?  What 
should  they  do?" 

"  About  going  or  staying,  I  mean.     'Tain't  no  ways 
likely  that  those  two  young  fellers  are  going  to  go 
right  along  living  here,  now  't  their  father's  gone." 
c  5 


go  EXriA  TION. 

Patsy  was  right.  Yet  this  thought  had  not  oc 
curred  to  me  before.  My  work  dropped  upon  my 
lap,  while  I  was  trying  to  peer  into  the  future  and  to 
see  how  it  would  look  unbrightened  by  the  young 
lives  whose  freshness  and  fullness  had  added  so  much 
to  mine.  Whatever  might  have  been  the  motives 
that  had  induced  Mr.  Armstrong  to  bury  himself  in 
Altona,  it  was  hardly  probable  that  they  would  be 
equallybinding  upon  his  sons. 

"  Kenneth's  been  to  college,"  continued  Patsy,  "and 
has  just  begun  studying  medicine.  He  can't  go  on 
with  his  studies  here ;  and  my  opinion  is  that  they'll 
just  sell  out  and  go  back  to  New  York  again." 

"  Have  they  said  anything  about  their  plans  ?" 

"  Not  a  word.  But  I  wish  they  would.  You  see," 
she  went  on,  drawing  her  chair  nearer  to  mine,  "  I've 
got  a  chance  to  sell  that  little  place  o'  mine,  down  at 
the  corners,  at  a  fair  price ;  but  I  don't  know  what  to 
do,  because  my  plans  depend  on  theirn.  It's  kind  o' 
running  down,  the  place  is ;  and  it  costs  me  consid 
erable  every  year  to  keep  it  in  repair.  If  I'm  a-going 
to  stay  here  and  keep  house  for  these  boys,  I'd  better 
sell  right  out  and  be  done  with  it.  If  I  ain't  a-going 
to,  I  shall  want  the  house  to  live  in  myself.  And 
that's  just  how  'tis,  Miss  Rossiter." 

Patsy  had  turned  her  face  away  as  she  spoke,  but 
I  saw  her  stealthily  wipe  away  a  tear  with  the  corner 
of  her  apron. 

"  Why  do  you  not  ask  Kenneth  what  he  intends 
to  do  ?"  I  asked. 

"Oh,  I  hate  to!  Besides,  Miss  Rossiter,  if  I 
should  undertake  to  talk  to  them  boys  about  leaving 


EXPIA  TION.  5  i 

on  'em,  and  their  father  just  gone  and  all,  I  should 
break  right  down  and  make  a  fool  of  myself,  I  know 
I  should, — just  as  I  am  this  very  minute!"  And  the 
tears  flowed  unrestrainedly  now. 

I  said  a  consoling  word  or  two, — words  intended 
for  my  own  benefit  quite  as  much  as  for  hers.  But, 
in  truth,  there  was  not  much  to  be  said.  I  felt  very 
sure  that  "  her  boys,"  as  she  loved  to  call  them,  would 
soon  pass  out  of  her  life,  as  out  of  mine. 

"  I  didn't  know  how  much  I  lotted  on  'em,"  she 
said,  at  last,  wiping  her  eyes  and  trying  to  steady  her 
voice,  "  until  I  begun  to  think  about  their  going 
away.  Clyde  he's  a  piece  of  fire  and  tow — blazes  up 
one  minute  and  out  the  next.  You  never  know  just 
where  to  find  him.  There  ain't  no  long  spells  o' 
mild,  settled  weather  with  him, — spells  when  it  don't 
neither  rain  nor  shine.  It's  either  a  thunder-burst  or 
clear  sunshine.  He's  awful  onreasonable  sometimes, 
too.  But  then  when  he  is  sweet  he's  clear  honey, 
and  you  forget  he's  ever  been  sour.  You  can't  lay 
up  anything  against  him,  somehow.  He's  like  some 
children, — there's  something  wonderfully  taking  even 
in  his  naughty  ways." 

"  Yes,"  I  answered,  "  he  is  very  unreasonable  some 
times  ;  but  I  fancy  he  is  never  '  naughty'  to  you.  He 
thinks  Patsy  is  about  right." 

"  Dear  me !"  she  said,  laughing,  "  he'll  get  just 
as  mad  as  fire  all  at  nothing,  and  it's  just  as  likely 
to  be  at  me  as  at  anybody;  or  at  Kenneth,  even. 
But  it  don't  last  long:  that's  one  comfort.  And 
Kenneth  knows  how  to  get  along  with  him ;  that's 
another." 


52  EX r i ATI  ox. 

"  It  is  fortunate  that  the  two  are  so  unlike,"  I 
replied.  "  If  Kenneth  had  as  little  self-control  as 
Clyde,  one  house  could  not  hold  them." 

"  Kenneth  ?  He's  strong  and  firm  as  a  rock,  and 
tender  as  a  woman.  But  it's  time  I  was  to  home 
and  abed.  Miss  Rossiter,  s'pose  you  try  to  find  out 
what's  going  to  be  done  ?  If  there's  going  to  be  any 
changes,  I  ought  to  know  it." 

Strong  and  firm,  yet  tender  as  a  woman.  I  thought 
of  Patsy's  words  after  she  had  gone,  and  I  sat  alone 
by  my  fireside.  I  thought,  also,  of  the  night  when 
I  had  seen  that  strength  broken  down,  that  firmness 
a  failure.  I  thought  of  his  deathly  pallor  as  he 
placed  that  mysterious  paper  in  the  safe  and  turned 
the  key  upon  it. 

Reticent,  too,  and  cool ;  for  even  in  that  moment 
of  weakness  no  word  that  he  could  have  wished  un 
said  had  escaped  him.  He  would  never  betray  his 
secrets,  if  he  had  any,  unawares. 

Scarcely  a  day  passed  during  which  I  did  not  see 
my  young  neighbors,  and  on  the  morrow  I  had  an 
opportunity  to  fulfill  my  promise  to  Patsy. 

"  Will  Clyde  go  with  you  when  you  return  to 
New  York,  Kenneth  ?"  I  asked. 

He  started. 

"  Clyde  ?  No.  I  am  not  going  back  to  New 
York,  aunty." 

"  What  ?  Not  to  finish  your  medical  studies,  Ken 
neth  ?  You  can  do  but  little  with  them  here." 

"  I  shall  not  attempt  to  go  on  with  them,"  he  an 
swered,  while  the  young  face  changed,  and  a  shadow 
of  pain  swept  over  it.  "  I've  given  up  all  idea  of 


EXPIA  TIO\\ 


53 


making  myself  immortal,  just  at  present,  Miss  Ros- 
siter." 

"  But  your  father  had  great  hopes  of  you,  Ken 
neth  ;  and  I  always  fancied  that  ambition  was  one 
of  your  easily-besetting  sins.  You  don't  mean  that 
you  have  abandoned  the  idea  of  becoming  a  phy 
sician  ?" 

"  Entirely,"  he  answered.  "  I  shall  '  throw  physic 
to  the  dogs'  henceforth,  and  devote  my  energies  to 
agriculture.  Clyde's  conservatory  will  keep  him  busy ; 
and  as  for  me " 

"  As  for  you,  you  will  die  of  inanition.  Kenneth, 
I  doubt  if  you  are  coming  to  a  wise  conclusion. 
Clyde  may  be  contented  here,  for  he  has  become 
accustomed  to  the  life.  But  for  you,  so  differently 
trained  and  educated,  to  think  of  becoming  a  fixture 
among  these  hills, — the  idea  is  simply  absurd  !" 

"  I  do  not  propose  becoming  a  fixture,  aunty, — nor 
an  idler.  I  shall  find  work  enough  ready  to  my 
hand." 

"  But,  the  world  is  so  large,  and  Altona  is  so 
small !  I  thought  you  were  going  abroad  as  soon 
as  you  had  obtained  your  degree  ?" 

He  did  not  answer  for  a  moment,  but  sat  gazing 
from  the  window  upon  the  far  blue  hills  that  shut  us 
in  on  every  side.  I  knew  that  in  that  instant  all  the 
treasures  of  the  Old  World — its  art,  its  architecture, 
its  storied  castles,  its  historic  battle-fields,  its  skies 
ail  written  over  with  memories,  its  mountains,  its 
monuments,  its  graves — passed  before  him  in  one  vast 
panorama. 

Then  he  turned  to  me  with  a  faint  smile. 


54  EXPIATION. 

"  That  was  one  of  my  dreams,"  he  said.  "  But  it 
is  all  over  now.  Father's  death  has  changed  every 
thing.  Clyde  and  I  will  stay  here  in  Altona.  Do 
you  want  to  get  rid  of  us  ?" 

"  Get  rid  of  you  ?  Ah,  Kenneth  !  But  you  will  feel 
differently  by-and-by.  The  grass  grows  green  upon 
all  graves  after  awhile.  Your  hearts  are  very  sore 
now,  and  life  has  indeed  changed  its  face.  Yet  Time, 
the  healer,  will  surely  do  his  work,  and  then " 

"  Ah,  it  is  not  that !  it  is  not  that !"  he  cried.  "  God 
help  me, — but  it  is  not  that !  Miss  Rossiter,  my  lot 
in  life  is  fixed  :  it  lies  right  here  in  Altona." 

I  knew  then  that  this  was  renunciation, — the  vol 
untary  surrender  of  all  a  young  man's  ambitions  and 
hopes,  his  dreams  of  being  and  doing,  at  the  call  of 
some  real  or  fancied  duty.  Some  exaggerated  idea 
of  loyalty  to  his  father's  memory,  some  caprice  of 
conscience,  some  whim  of  reason  or  of  judgment,  I 
thought  it,  even  while  I  honored  the  young  man  none 
the  less. 

But  I  speedily  set  Patsy's  heart  at  rest ;  and  the 
little  brown  house  was  sold. 


EXPIATION. 


CHAPTER    VI. 

THAT  winter  passed  very  quietly.  The  most  notice 
able  feature  of  the  life  at  Greyholt  had  been  Mr. 
Armstrong's  extreme  devotion  to  Clyde.  They  had 
been  the  most  inseparable  of  companions, — indeed, 
the  father  had  seemed  utterly  swallowed  up  in  the 
son,  and  to  have  merged  his  existence  in  his.  Per 
haps  there  was  no  real  reason  for  supposing  that  he 
loved  one  son  better  than  the  other.  But  his  love 
for  Kenneth  was  so  different  in  its  character  and  its 
manifestations  from  that  which  he  bore  Clyde,  that 
one  could  hardly  compare  the  two  emotions.  He 
gloried  in  his  elder  son,  was  proud  of  him,  trusted 
him.  But  he  cherished  the  younger  as  the  very  apple 
of  his  eye. 

Now  Kenneth's  devotion  to  his  brother  became 
equally  noticeable.  He  seemed  to  have  stepped  at 
once  into  his  father's  place.  Quietly,  unobtrusively, 
he  filled  Clyde's  life  from  out  his  own  fullness.  To 
leave  no  void,  no  emptiness  there,  to  crowd  his  days 
with  pleasant  doings,  to  fill  his  brain  with  happy 
thoughts,  seemed  to  be  the  end  and  aim  of  his  exist 
ence.  Nothing  daunted  him,  nothing  repelled  him. 
Clyde's  freaks  of  temper,  his  occasional  wayward 
nesses,  his  self-will,  that  would  at  times  override  all 
obstacles  and  overrule  all  laws,  his  passionate  im 
pulses,  his  unreasonable  caprices, — all  these  seemed 
only  to  fill  Kenneth  with  a  tenderer,  a  more  long- 
enduring  patience. 


56  EXPIATION. 

"  Talk  about  being  patient  as  a  woman  !"  said  Patsy, 
one  day.  "  Patient  as  Kenneth  Armstrong,  I  say. 
That's  the  way  it  ought  to  read." 

But  it  must  be  confessed  that  Patsy  had  also  been 
right  when  she  said  that  Clyde's  faults  were  more 
engaging  than  other  people's  virtues.  He  had  been 
charmed  in  his  cradle,  I  think ;  and  love  flowed  out 
to  him  as  from  its  own  excess.  There  was  an  inde 
scribable  fascination  about  him,  that  won  all  hearts. 

The  two  young  men  had  but  little  intercourse  with 
the  village  people.  It  was  not  that  they  "  felt  above 
them,"  or  studiously  held  themselves  aloof.  It  was 
simply  the  working  of  a  natural  law.  Like  affiliates 
with  like.  Either  one  of  the  brothers  would  have 
shone  like  some  "  bright  particular  star"  in  a  circle 
to  which  he  was  adapted  and  whose  habits  of  thought 
and  feeling  were  in  accordance  with  his  own.  But 
they  were  not  at  home  with  the  Altonians.  At  the 
merry-makings,  the  social  gatherings  to  which  they 
were  occasionally  invited,  they  were  apt  to  be  shy, 
silent,  and  constrained.  The  somewhat  rough  and 
noisy  jollity  abashed  them,  while  it  jarred  upon  some 
fine  chord  of  their  natures  that  was  not  in  harmony 
with  their  surroundings.  Of  course  this  does  not 
apply  to  all  Altona.  There  were  some  souls  in  that 
little  country  town  who  were  the  peers  of  any  in  the 
land, — who  were  in  earnest  sympathy  with  all  that 
was  finest,  truest,  and  purest. 

So  their  evenings  were  spent  chiefly  at  home  in 
their  own  cozy  library,  save  when,  upon  clear,  moonlit 
nights,  they  were  tempted  out  for  a  rapid  drive  over 
the  sparkling  snow,  or  down  to  the  creek,  where  the 


EXPIA  TION. 


57 


glare  ice  waited  for  the  music  of  the  skater's  steel.  If, 
sometimes,  I  grew  tired  of  listening  to  the  ticking  of  my 
clock,  or  of  thinking  my  own  thoughts,  and  throwing 
a  shawl  about  me,  ran  over  the  way  to  see  what  my 
neighbors  were  about,  I  knew  just  the  picture  that 
would  greet  my  eyes  as  I  stepped  upon  the  piazza 
and  glanced  in  at  the  low  window.  I  knew  that  the 
small,  inlaid  centre-table  with  the  curiously  carved 
legs  would  be  drawn  into  the  middle  of  the  room,  in 
front  of  the  open  fireplace,  where  a  bright  wood  fire 
would  be  leaping  and  sparkling.  Upon  one  side  of  it 
I  should  see  the  lamplight  falling  upon  Kenneth's 
dark-brown  hair,  tossed  carelessly  back  from  a  low, 
broad  forehead,  kindling  his  cool,  gray  eyes  into 
subtle  fire,  and  lending  his  cheek  a  warmer  glow  ;  on 
the  other,  Clyde's  curls  of  reddish  gold  would  be 
catching  a  deeper  tint  from  the  glowing  flames,  and 
his  large,  black  eyes  would  be  flashing  with  merri 
ment,  or  earnest  with  thought.  The  table  between 
them  would  be  loaded  with  books,  magazines,  re 
views,  and  newspapers.  They  would  be  reading 
together ;  or,  with  books  dropped  upon  their  knees, 
they  would  have  floated  off  upon  some  sparkling  tide 
of  talk.  Or  the  red  and  white  chessmen  would  be 
waging  mimic  war,  and  kings  and  queens,  knights 
and  bishops,  would  be  trembling  in  dire  dismay.  And 
I  knew  that  as  my  step  crossed  the  threshold  the 
books  would  be  thrown  down,  or  the  chessmen  be 
made  to  beat  an  ignominious  retreat,  and  two  young 
voices  that  I  had  learned  to  love  would  vie  with  each 
other  in  welcoming  me.  Then,  mayhap,  Patsy  would 
come  in  with  a  basket  of  rosy-cheeked  apples,  or  a 
c* 


5  8  EXPIATION. 

dish  of  hickory-nuts ;  and  sometimes,  though  very 
rarely,  she  would  join  the  little  circle.  She  ex 
pected  to  reign  undisputed  queen  in  her  own  realm, 
but  she  was  shy  of  intruding  upon  the  domains  of 
others. 

Several  times  during  that  winter  I  had  occasion 
to  know  that  the  excitement  about  the  will,  and  the 
curiosity  awakened  by  the  circumstances  attending 
Mr.  Armstrong's  last  hours,  had  not  entirely  sub 
sided.  Strange  questions  were  asked  of  Patsy ;  and 
many  a  time  Dennis  came  back  from  the  village  with 
his  head  filled  with  vague,  idle  rumors, — rumors  that 
I  was  fllin  to  believe  he  helped  rather  than  hindered, 
partly  out  of  an  Irishman's  love  of  mischief,  and 
partly  out  of  an  honest  contempt  for  scandal-mongers. 
More  than  once  I  heard  of  Kenneth's  visit  to  the  safe ; 
and  it  was  even  intimated  that  selfish  motives  were  at 
the  bottom  of  his  devotion  to  Clyde.  Had  not  the 
property  belonged  to  Mr.  Armstrong's  last  wife  ? 

The  brothers  knew  nothing  of  all  this.  It  usually 
happens  that  those  most  nearly  concerned  are  the 
last  to  hear  an  injurious  report,  a  scandalous  story, 
or  a  rumor  of  doubtful  import. 

And  why  had  the  father  been  buried  in  Altona  ? 
There  was  a  costly  vault  in  Greenwood,  where  two 
women  who  had  loved  him  awaited  his  coming. 
Why,  then,  did  they  wait  vainly,  while  his  dust 
mingled  with  our  yellow  sands,  and  our  pines  cast 
their  long  shadows  over  his  grave  ? 

These  questions,  also,  were  often  asked.  It  was 
not  enough  to  say  that  such  had  been  his  wish.  Why 
had  he  wished  it  ?  Why  had  he  not  chosen  to  sleep 


EXPIATION. 


59 


among  his  kindred  ?  None  of  his  kith  or  kin  were 
buried  in  Altona.  There  were  many  in  Greenwood. 

I  watched  Kenneth  closely  that  winter.  He  was  a 
curious  study  to  me.  Since  that  one  conversation, 
during  the  course  of  which  he  had  said  to  me,  "  It  is 
not  that;  God  help  me,  but  it  is  not  that T  he  had 
never  alluded  to  the  matter.  Whatever  the  burden 
might  be  that  had  fallen  upon  his  young  shoulders, — 
or  that  he  had  voluntarily  lifted  to  them, — he  bore 
it  silently,  uncomplainingly.  He  had  changed.  He 
seemed  suddenly  to  have  sprung  out  of  youth  into 
mature  manhood.  The  vague  unrest,  the  eager 
longing  of  the  spring  had  settled  into  something 
akin  to  the  fullness,  the  rich  repose  of  summer.  Was 
he  happy?  I  doubted  it  sometimes,  when  I  saw  the 
far-away  look  in  his  eyes,  or  caught  a  gleam  like  the 
bursting  forth  of  smouldering  flame.  But  he  was 
cheerful :  he  was  at  rest.  As  Patsy  had  said,  he  was 
firm  as  a  rock ;  and  having  once  chosen  his  lot, — or 
accepted  it, — he  had  no  regrets,  no  misgivings. 

And  so  the  quiet  months  passed  on,  until  it  was 
June. 

June  in  Altona!  If  you  have  never  been  among 
our  mountains,  you  can  have  but  a  slight  idea  of  the 
meaning  of  these  three  words.  It  was  as  if  the  yearly 
miracle  was  but  just  completed,  and  the  earth  had 
sprung,  new-born,  from  the  hand  of  its  Creator.  Such 
a  wealth  of  green  lay  everywhere,  from  the  dark  hue 
of  the  pines,  on  through  all  the  gradations  of  color, 
to  the  tender,  delicate  tinting  of  the  young  hemlock- 
shoots.  The  maples  were  in  full  leaf,  the  birches 
were  tipped  with  airy  tracery,  the  pendent  boughs  of 


(,0  EXPIATION. 

the  elm-trees  drooped,  heavy  with  their  trailing 
wreaths  of  verdure,  the  cedars  gave  out  their  resin 
ous  perfume,  the  oaks  wore  their  emerald  crowns,  as 
if  rejoicing  in  the  sunlight.  In  the  meadows,  the 
young  grass  was  soft  and  tender  as  a  baby's  cheek. 
On  the  hillsides  and  on  all  the  uplands  the  grain  was 
springing  fresh  and  green.  The  wild  roses  were  in 
bloom  ;  blue  violets  smiled  from  every  shady  nook  ; 
scarlet  honeysuckles,  purple  columbines,  golden  ear 
drops,  and  a  thousand  other  flowers,  made  the  woods 
beautiful  with  their  presence.  And  over  all  hung  the 
vast  sapphire  sky,  where  only  a  few  light,  fleecy 
clouds  lay  tranquilly  against  the  blue. 

All  this  young,  tender  beauty  is  very  evanescent, 
and  soon  gives  place  to  the  deeper  tints,  the  more 
gorgeous  coloring  of  midsummer;  but  while  it  lasts, 
it  is  incomparable  for  delicacy  and  sweetness. 

And  one  morning  in  June  it  was  when  Clyde  came 
in  with  his  arms  full  of  azalea-branches,  laden  with 
the  exquisite  pink  flowers  that  are  so  heavy  with 
perfume.  Flinging  down  his  fragrant  burden  upon  a 
table  that  it  nearly  covered,  he  looked  about  him 
with  surprise,  not  unmingled  with  dismay. 

"Oh,  oh,  oh!"  he  ejaculated,  at  last.  "Aunty, 
what  are  you  turning  Cozytoft  upside  down  for?  at 
this  time  of  year,  too  ?  I  thought  spring  house- 
cleaning  was  over  long  ago," 

Curtains  were  down,  one  carpet,  at  least,  was  up, 
and  Cozytoft  was  in  a  great  state  of  confusion.  I 
waited  to  drive  in  the  tack  that  was  to  re-fasten  the 
said  carpet  in  one  corner  at  least,  before  I  looked  up 
from  my  knees  and  answered  him. 


EXPIATION.  6! 

"  Strange  things  have  come  to  pass  since  I  saw 
you  on  the  night  before  last,  at  sundown,  Master 
Clyde, — very  strange  things.  You  don't  get  the  news 
up  on  the  hill ;  and  if  you  won't  come  to  Cozytoft 
after  it,  why,  you  don't  get  it,  that's  all." 

"  But  I  have  come  after  it,"  he  said,  throwing  him 
self  upon  the  floor,  and  holding  the  carpet  in  place 
for  me  as  I  nailed  it  down.  "  I  have  come  after  it- 
News  ?  Tell  me  what  it  is,  like  a  good  aunty,"  he 
added,  coaxingly. 

"You'll  run  right  off  to  tell  Kenneth,"  I  answered, 
"  and  then  I  shall  have  to  put  my  carpet  down  alone. 
No;  I  think  I'll  keep  my  secret  for  the  present." 

"A  secret?  Worse  and  worse!  or  rather,  better 
and  better  !"  he  cried.  "  What  is  it,  Miss  Rossiter  ?" 
I  was  "aunty"  or  "  Miss  Rossiter,"  just  as  it  hap 
pened.  "  I'll  stay  and  help  you  put  down  the  carpet, 
and  put  up  the  curtains,  and  make  myself  useful  gen 
erally.  Kenneth  may  find  out  the  secret  the  best 
way  he  can.  What  is  it,  aunty  ?" 

"  There  is  to  be  a  boarder  at  Cozytoft,"  I  answered, 
— "a  city  boarder.  Think  of  that,  sir!  And  I  am 
to  have  a  little  handmaiden  to  help  about  the  house 
work.  Isn't  that  a  choice  bit  of  news  ?" 

"  I  shouldn't  think  it  was,"  he  replied,  dubiously. 
"A  boarder— at  Cozytoft!  I  don't  like  it,  aunty.  It 
will  not  do  at  all." 

"Why  not?"  I  asked.  "I  think  it  will  do  nicely. 
I  shall  have,  pleasant  company,  and " 

"  Who  is  it  ?"  he  cried,  interrupting  me.  "  You 
don't  say  who  it  is !  Some  stately  divine,  with 
gold-headed  cane  and  spectacles,  who  will  overpower 

6 


62  EXPIATION. 

you  with  his  theologies;  some  pale,  long-haired 
student,  with  a  trunk  full  of  philosophy ;  or  some 
strong-minded  woman,  with  short,  frowzy  hair  and 
an  ill-fitting  dress.  I  give  you  joy,  Miss  Rossiter !" 

"  Thank  you,"  I  said ;  "  I  would  get  up  and 
drop  you  a  courtesy  if  I  were  not  so  busy.  Guess 
again,  Mr.  Clyde  Armstrong.  You  are  not  right 
yet." 

"Some  young  Nimrod,  then,"  he  continued,  "who 
will  come  up  here  to  shoot  robins  and  tame  pigeons, 
and  then,  when  his  vacation  is  over,  go  home  and 
boast  of  his  hunting  exploits  ;  or  some  newly-fledged 
disciple  of  Izaak  Walton,  who  doesn't  know  a  trout 
from  a  pickerel.  Say  I  am  right,  aunty :  it  will  do 
me  proud  to  make  the  young  gentleman's  acquaint 
ance." 

I  laughed.  "You  are  saucy,  sir;  and  now  I  will 
not  tell  you  at  all.  You  must  wait  and  see." 

Clyde  grumbled  and  scolded  like  a  spoiled  child. 
What  did  I  want  with  boarders,  anyway?  Just  to 
keep  my  friends  away  from  Cozy  toft,  he  supposed. 
And  a  very  effectual  plan  it  was  likely  to  prove. 
When  all  that  theology  and  philosophy  and  strong- 
mindedness,  to  say  nothing  of  Nimrod  and  the 
angler,  had  taken  possession  of  the  place,  there  would 
be  but  little  room  for  its  old  frequenters.  For  his 
part,  he  proposed  to  bid  me  farewell  when  he  left  the 
house  that  morning,  and  never  to  cross  the  threshold 
again  until  the  autumn  winds,  blowing  straight  from 
the  north,  had  swept  the  intruders  away,  as  leaves 
before  the  blast. 

"  Take  care,  Clyde,"  I  said;  "  if  you  get  your  fingers 


EXPIA  TION.  63 

under  this  hammer,  I  won't  answer  for  the  conse 
quences." 

"  Much  you  will  care  about  it!"  he  answered,  toss 
ing  back  the  auburn  locks  that  fell  over  his  eyes  as  he 
tugged  away  at  the  carpet.  "  Much  you  will  care ! 
You  have  been  hammering  on  my  heart-strings  ever 
since  I  came  in  here  this  morning.  It's  too  bad, 
aunty !  I  would  not  have  believed  it  of  you, — and 
all  for  the  sake  of  a  dozen  strangers  !" 

"  Are  you  doing  a  sum  in  arithmetical  progres 
sion  ?"  I  asked,  laughing.  "  You  started  me  with 
one  boarder,  then  you  had  five,  and  now  you  have 
got  up  to  a  dozen.  I  shall  have  to  build  an  addition 
to  Cozytoft,  at  this  rate." 

"  You'd  better  keep  a  hotel  and  be  done  with  it," 
he  said.  "  I'll  give  you  a  sign :  my  great  eagle's 
nest  swinging  from  a  liberty-pole.  Nimrod  would 
like  that." 

"  On  the  contrary,  I  fear  it  would  frighten  him. 
Give  me  a  humming-bird's  nest,  and  I  will  hang  it  in 
a  corner  of  the  piazza,  suspended  by  a  silken  thread. 
You  are  very  absurd,  Clyde." 

He  strode  off  in  a  pet,  or  something  more.  But 
in  ten  minutes  he  was  back  again,  as  I  knew  he 
would  be. 

"  Miss  Rossiter,"  he  said,  putting  his  head  in  at  the 
window,  "  perhaps  you  do  not  know  that  azalea-blos 
soms  fade  very  quickly  if  they  are  not  picked  from 
the  boughs  and  placed  in  water?" 

"Yes,  I  know  it,"  I  answered;  "and  those  beau 
ties  are  drooping  already.  But  what  am  I  to  do  ?  I 
must  bring  order  out  of  this  chaos  before  I  can  stop 


64 


EX  PI  A  TION. 


to  arrange  them.  I  suppose  I  might  put  them  in  a 
tub  of  water,  just  as  they  are  ?" 

"  Oh,  no  !  that  won't  answer,"  he  cried,  leaping  in 
at  the  window.  "  Don't  you  know  ?  These  woody 
branches  won't  absorb  any  water.  The  flowers  must 
be  picked  off;  and  it  will  take  some  time." 

"  Now  you  see  what  a  convenience  it  would  be  if 
my  boarders  were  here,"  I  said.  "  Nimrod  ought  to 
be  a  lover  of  nature,  and  I  am  sure  he  would  love 
June  pinks.  But  of  course  I  can't  ask  you  to  ar 
range  them." 

"  Why  not,  I  should  like  to  know  ?  Nimrod 

should  not  touch  these  flowers  if Bring  me 

the  big  punch-bowl,  aunty,  that  did  not  come  over 
in  the  Mayflower,  and  some  cord  and  a  pair  of 
scissors." 

I  brought  them,  and  then  began  to  plait  my  freshly- 
ironed  curtains.  By  the  time  they  were  plaited,  the 
bowl  was  overflowing  with  its  wealth  of  beauty  and 
perfume.  Clyde  brought  in  the  step-ladder,  and 
helped  put  up  the  curtains.  Then  we  cleared  away 
the  refuse  stems  and  leaves,  arranged  the  furniture, 
and  placed  the  punch-bowl  on  the  centre-table. 

"  There  should  be  some  flowers  on  the  mantel," 
said  Clyde,  taking  a  deliberate  survey  of  the  cool, 
fresh,  shaded  room.  "  That  is  all  it  needs,  with  some 
trailing  vines  for  the  bracket  in  the  corner." 

Away  he  dashed,  and  presently  returned  with 
graceful,  drooping  fuchsias,  a  handful  of  roses,  from 
creamiest  white  to  deepest  crimson,  and  long  sprays 
of  the  delicate  mountain-fringe.  While  he  was  ar 
ranging  them,  I  went  off  to  the  kitchen. 


EXPIATION.  65 

Pretty  soon  I  looked  up,  to  see  him  standing  in 
the  door. 

"  What  now,  aunty  ?" 

"  Oh,  there  is  sponge-cake  to  make,"  I  answered. 
"My  'boarders'  will  have  ravenous  appetites,  I  ex 
pect." 

"  Which  you  will  attempt  to  satisfy  with  sponge 
cake.  Wise  woman !  I  should  have  supposed  roast 
beef  the  better  thing.  But  where  is  your  '  neat-handed 
Phillis'?  Why  doesn't  she  do  this  ?" 

"  Baking  sponge-cake  is  one  of  the  fine  arts,  Mr. 
Armstrong.  She  can  do  some  things  well,  but  this  is 
not  one  of  her  accomplishments.  Besides,  she  has 
gone  a-strawberrying,  and  cannot  conveniently  do  two 
things  at  once." 

For  two  minutes  he  was  silent,  watching  the  platter 
of  snowy  foam  as  I  heaped  it  higher  and  higher. 

"  Who  is  coming,  aunty  ?"  he  said,  presently,  lean 
ing  with  both  arms  upon  the  table.  "  What's  the  use 
of  all  this  mystery?" 

"  There  is  no  mystery  at  all,"  I  answered.  "  I 
should  have  told  you  all  about  it  at  first,  if  you  had 
not  flown  off  on  such  a  tangent  that  I  could  not  reach 
you." 

"Tell  me  now,  then, — if  it  isn't  Nimrod.  I  don't 
care  to  hear  about  him." 

I  laughed.  "  It  is  not  Nimrod.  It  is — Miss  Elsie 
Meredith." 

"  Who  is  she  ?" 

"  She  is — Elsie  Meredith — niece  and  ward  of  Dr. 
Howard  Bellinger,  of  New  York." 

"  But  what  brings  her  up  here  ?" 
5* 


66  EXPIA  TION. 

"  Oh,  Dr.  Bellinger  is  an  old  friend  of  mine :  he 
was  born  in  that  white  farm-house  where  the  Gilmores 
live  now,  and  he  has  drawn  me  to  school  on  his  sled 
many  a  time.  Elsie  wanted  to  spend  the  summer  in 
the  country, — pure,  unadulterated  country, — so  he 
said  ;  and  her  uncle  very  naturally  thought  of  Altona 
as  the  fitting  place.  Quite  as  naturally,  too,  he 
wanted  me  to  make  a  home  for  her." 

"  Did  you  ever  see  her?" 

"  Once  only, — five  or  six  years  since.  She  was  a 
pretty  child  then.  Where  is  Kenneth  to-day  ?" 

"  He  has  gone  over  to  Highborough, — to  the  bank, 
and  will  not  be  back  till  to-morrow  night.  Heigh-ho  ! 
This  Miss  Meredith  is  better  than  Nimrod;  but  I  am 
sorry  she  is  coming.  Aunty,  will  it  be  necessary  for 
me  to  put  on  a  dress-coat  and  lavender  gloves  when 
ever  I  call  at  Cozytoft  ?  I  want  to  do  the  correct 
thing." 

"  Do  just  as  you  please,  sir.  Dress-coat  or  linen 
blouse,  lavender  gloves  or  no  gloves  at  all :  it  is  all  one. 
Do  you  think  the  coming  of  this  girl  is  going  to 
overturn  all  my  household  arrangements  ?" 

"  Aunty,  your  cake  is  burning,  unless  my  nose  de 
ceives  me.  When  is  she  coming  ?" 

"  To-morrow." 


EXPIA  TION. 


CHAPTER    VII. 

To  tell  the  truth,  I  had  myself  some  of  Clyde's 
misgivings  with  regard  to  the  new  boarder.  I  had 
lived  alone  so  long  that  I  had  learned  to  regard 
Margaret  Rossiter  as  excellent  company.  I  quar 
reled  with  her  occasionally,  it  is  true,  and  often  took 
her  severely  to  task  for  some  doing  or  not-doing. 
But  on  the  whole  we  got  on  very  peaceably  together, 
and  I  was  a  little  sorry  to  have  our  relations  dis 
turbed.  This  girl — this  Elsie  Meredith — who  was 
coming,  might  make  herself  agreeable,  or  very  dis 
agreeable  :  it  was  just  an  experiment. 

But  we  do  not  live  "  unto  ourselves ;"  and,  at  all 
events,  I  had  done  right  in  consenting  to  make  a  home 
for  the  motherless  ward  of  my  old  friend.  So  the 
next  morning  I  gave  a  few  last  adorning  touches  to 
the  pretty  chamber  I  had  already  prepared  for  her, 
straightened  the  ruffled  pillows  upon  the  little  white- 
draped  bed,  looped  back  the  muslin  curtains  in  fresher 
and  more  graceful  folds,  placed  a  basket  of  purple 
pansies  upon  the  toilet-table,  and  then  went  down 
stairs,  and  seated  myself,  with  a  quiet  heart,  to  await 
her  coming. 

The  stage  was  due  about  noon.  It  was  now  half- 
past  ten,  and  I  took  up  my  work-basket,  thinking 
there  was  abundant  time  to  hem  a  certain  strip  of 
ruffling  before  my  guest  should  arrive.  But  before  I 
had  taken  a  dozen  stitches,  the  sound  of  tramping 


68  EXPIA  TION. 

hoofs  drew  my  eyes  down  past  the  clump  of  maples, 
to  the  bend  in  the  road  just  opposite  the  dam. 

Tramp — tramp, — nearer  and  nearer.  A  spirited 
bay  horse,  which  looked  strangely  familiar,  swept 
round  the  turn,  carrying  a  lady,  in  a  dark-blue  riding- 
habit.  I  had  time  but  for  a  single  glance,  when  she 
turned,  waved  her  hand  lightly  to  some  person  or 
persons  behind  her,  touched  her  horse  with  the  whip, 
and  he  shot  forward,  like  an  arrow  from  a  bow. 

Very  few  ladies  rode  in  Altona ;  and  we  all  thought 
ourselves  at  liberty  to  stare  at  any  long-robed  figure 
on  horseback.  So  I  stepped  to  the  door  to  gratify 
my  curiosity.  Just  as  I  did  so,  the  lady  drew  upon 
the  reins,  and  wheeled  her  gay  charger  into  my  yard. 
At  the  same  instant  two  other  riders  came  in  sight. 
Was  the  foremost  one — surely  it  was — my  old  friend 
Dr.  Bellinger?  and  the  other  was  Kenneth  Armstrong. 

So  this  was  Elsie  Meredith.  I  went  forward  to 
greet  her.  As  she  saw  me,  she  threw  her  reins  upon 
the  horse's  neck,  gathered  up  her  flowing  robes  with 
one  hand,  and  placing  the  other  upon  the  pommel  of 
the  saddle,  sprang  lightly  to  the  ground. 

Was  this  the  "pretty  child"  I  had  seen  a  few  years 
before  ? — this  beautiful  and  graceful  woman  who,  even 
in  that  first  glance,  dazzled  my  eyes  with  her  un 
wonted  loveliness  ?  I  had  scarcely  had  time  to  speak 
to  her,  when  the  gentlemen  dismounted. 

"  My  old  friend  Margaret!"  exclaimed  Dr.  Bellin 
ger  as  he  ungloved;  "  or  must  it  be  'Miss  Rossiter,' 
in  consideration  of  the  years  that  have  passed  since 
you  and  I  '  went  gipsying,  a  long  time  ago'  ?" 

"  It  shall  be  '  Margaret,'  or  '  Miss  Rossiter,'  just  as 


EXPIATION.  60 

it  pleases  you,"  I  replied,  as  I  gave  him  my  hand. 
"  We  have  helped  each  other  into  mischief  and  out  of 
it  too  many  times  to  stand  upon  ceremony  now,  Dr. 
Bellinger." 

"  And  this  is  Elsie,"  he  said,  turning  to  his  niece, 
who  still  stood  with  her  hand  upon  the  horn  of  the 
saddle.  "  This  is  Elsie." 

A  most  simple  introduction;  but  his  voice  and 
manner  said  more  plainly  than  words  could  have  done 
that  there  was  but  one  Elsie  in  all  the  world  for  him. 
I  did  not  wonder.  After  a  word  or  two  with  my 
beautiful  guest,  I  turned  to  Kenneth,  who  stood  lean 
ing  against  his  horse,  hat  in  hand,  watching  us  in  a 
sort  of  happy  silence. 

"And  where  do  you  come  from,  Kenneth?"  Tasked; 
"  or  rather,  how  do  you  happen  to  be  of  this  party  ? 
I  thought  you  went  to  Highborough  yesterday." 

Dr.  Bellinger  laughed.  "Things  don't  happen  in 
this  world,  Margaret.  They  are  ordered.  But  I 
beg  your  pardon,  Mr.  Armstrong.  Tell  your  own 
story." 

"  Not  out  here  in  the  sun,"  I  said.  "  If  there  is  a 
story  to  tell,  we  will  hear  it  in-doors." 

But  as  I  spoke  I  looked  in  dire  dismay  at  the 
horses.  Cozytoft  did  not  furnish  the  amplest  accom 
modations  for  "  man  and  beast."  Kenneth  perceived 
my  dilemma. 

"  Dennis  !"  he  called,  as  he  caught  sight  of  a  figure 
behind  the  hedge  on  the  other  side  of  the  road. 
"Dennis!" 

Dennis  appeared,  touching  his  hat  as  soon  as  he 
caught  a  glimpse  of  his  young  master. 


70  EXPIA  TION. 

"  Welcome  home,  yer  honor,"  he  said.  "  Yer 
honor's  welcome  home." 

"  Thank  you,  Dennis.  All  well,  I  hope  ?"  Then 
there  was  a  whispered  word  or  two,  and,  to  my  infi 
nite  relief,  the  horses  disappeared.  We  went  into  the 
house. 

"  Now  for  the  story,  Kenneth." 

"  Which  is  not  a  story,"  he  answered. 

But  he  explained  the  "  happening"  by  saying  that 
Miss  Meredith  and  himself  were  old  acquaintances, 
and  that,  very  unexpectedly,  they  had  recognized 
each  other  at  the  breakfast-table  that  morning.  It 
seemed  that  Dr.  Bellinger  had  wished  Elsie  to  have 
a  better  view  of  the  wild,  picturesque  mountain 
scenery  than  she  could  have  on  the  Bloomfield 
route,  and  had  accordingly  gone  up  on  the  other 
side,  stopping  at  Highborough. 

"  In  my  day,  you  know,"  said  the  doctor,  "  a  stage 
ran  regularly  between  Highborough  and  Altona. 
But  your  new  railroads  have  disarranged  things  gen 
erally,  and  I  could  not  get  a  carriage  for  love  or 
money.  Elsie  is  a  famous  horsewoman,  however,  and 
Mr.  Armstrong  proposed  that  we  should  ride  over. 
So  here  we  are,  full  an  hour  earlier  than  you  expected 
us." 

"  What  a  string  of  commonplaces !"  exclaimed 
Miss  Meredith,  laughing,  as  she  untied  her  hat  and 
smoothed  down  the  golden  tresses  that  had  been  dis 
arranged  by  her  long  ride.  "  I  thought  you  were 
about  to  draw  upon  your  vivid  imagination,  and  give 
us  a  tale  of  romance  and  adventure." 

"  Certainly,  Dr.  Bellinger,  we  had  a  right  to  ex- 


EXPIA  TWN.  7 1 

pect  as  much,  after  your  allusion  to  special  orderings," 
I  said.  "  But  where  are  your  trunks  ?" 

"  On  the  way,"  she  answered  :  "  they  will  be  here 
presently ;  and  the  driver  will  take  back  the  horses. 
But  if  you  will  show  me  where  I  am  to  live  this  sum 
mer,  I  will  try  to  make  myself  tolerably  presentable 
without  waiting  for  them." 

"  To  live !"  exclaimed  the  doctor.  "  You  are  to 
have  all  out-of-doors  for  a  dwelling-place.  '  No  pent- 
up  Utica'  this  summer,  Miss  Meredith.  Remember 
that,  if  you  please." 

She  went  off,  laughing  lightly,  with  her  blue  robes 
trailing  after  her,  and  her  wavy  hair,  half  escaping 
from  its  net,  catching  a  new  gleam  from  the  sunshine 
as  she  went  up  the  stairs. 

As  I  followed,  I  turned  to  look  at  Kenneth,  intend 
ing  to  ask  him  to  stay  to  dinner. 

Dinner ! 

There  was  something  in  his  face  that  startled  me. 
I  cannot  tell  you  what  it  was,  even  if  I  try.  It  was  as 
if  some  dormant  power  of  his  nature  had  suddenly 
wakened  into  life  and  vigor ;  as  if  a  flame  that  had 
long  been  checked,  smothered,  held  back  by  opposing 
elements,  had  at  last  burst  the  barriers  and  sprung 
forth  a  glad,  rejoicing  thing.  And  with  it  all  there 
was  a  certain  quiet  content  that  I  had  not  seen  since 
his  father  died. 

He  was  not  looking  at  Elsie.  On  the  contrary,  his 
steadfast  gaze  had  gone  out  through  the  low  window, 
with  its  clustering  vines,  past  village  and  forest,  field 
and  meadow,  to  the  far  horizon  closing  down  upon 
the  mountain-peaks.  He  had  not  exchanged  a  dozen 


•j2  EXPIA  TION. 

words  with  her  since  they  had  been  in  my  house ; 
yet,  by  some  subtle,  inward  consciousness,  rather 
than  by  any  effort  of  reason,  I  felt  that  Kenneth 
Armstrong  loved  this  new  guest  of  mine.  Was  that 
what  had  brought  her  here  ? 

I  followed  her  up-stairs  in  a  sort  of  maze,  and 
then  led  the  way  to  her  chamber. 

"Ah,  this  is  charming!"  she  said,  glancing  with 
pleased  eyes  about  the  pleasant  room  ;  "  so  fresh  and 
cool  and  sweet !  I  foresee  that  I  shall  be  very  happy 
here,  Miss  Rossiter." 

"  I  hope  you  will  be,"  I  answered,  turning  one  of 
the  blinds,  that  the  perfumed  breath  of  the  clover- 
field  might  find  freer  entrance.  "  I  have  lived  here 
by  myself  for  many  years,  and  know  but  little  of  the 
ways  or  the  wants  of  young  ladies,  Miss  Meredith ; 
nevertheless,  I  think  I  can  make  you  content  and 
happy  up  here  among  the  mountains." 

There  was  a  light  step  behind  me,  and  in  a  moment 
a  pair  of  soft  white  arms — for  she  had  laid  off  her 
riding-habit — were  about  my  neck. 

"  Call  me  Elsie,"  she  said.  "  You  are  Uncle  How 
ard's  dear  old  friend,  and  I  cannot  be  '  Miss  Mere 
dith'  to  you :  it  is  too  formal.  Call  me  Elsie,  and  I 
shall  feel  more  at  home  with  you." 

"  '  Elsie,'  then,"  I  replied,  returning  her  caress,  and 
wondering  as  I  did  so  at  the  exquisite  purity  of  her 
complexion,  at  the  dazzling  whiteness  of  her  neck 
and  arms,  at  the  wealth  of  golden  hair,  that,  loosened 
from  its  confinement,  fell  almost  to  her  knees,  en 
veloping  her  as  in  a  luminous  cloud,  at  her  soft  eyes 
of  clearest,  darkest  blue,  at  her  ripe  red  lips,  and  her 


EXPIATION. 


73 


young  cheek's  changeful  glow.  I  gazed  at  all  this 
loveliness,  as  a  woman  of  forty  might  be  supposed 
to  gaze  at  it, — with  a  little  sigh  of  regret  for  her  own 
lost  youth,  with  a  little  tender  envy  of  the  beauty 
that  was  so  patent,  yet  so  unconscious,  and  that 
needed  no  painstaking,  no  thought,  to  make  it  irre 
sistible.  I  wondered  if  this  young  girl  knew  how 
fair  she  was,  and  if  her  soul  was  as  beautiful  as  the 
dwelling  it  inhabited. 

Yet  I  hardly  doubted  this.  Some  beauty  impresses 
you  as  being  an  emanation  from  the  soul  itself;  and 
hers  was  of  this  sort.  You  felt,  after  all,  that  it  was 
not  the  pure,  calm  forehead,  not  the  softly-tinted 
cheek,  the  starry  eyes,  nor  the  flowing  tresses,  that 
made  her  so  fair.  It  was  something  that  lay  behind 
all  these.  The  true  soul  of  her  beauty  would  look 
out  of  those  wondrous  eyes,  and  smile  from  those 
tender  lips,  even  when  Elsie  Meredith  should  be  an 
old,  old  woman,  wrinkled  and  gray. 

She  stepped  to  the  window.  Greyholt,  embow 
ered  in  trees,  lay  just  opposite,  and  in  full  view. 
From  the  rooms  below,  we  could  only  catch  a  glimpse 
of  the  piazza. 

"  Is  that  Mr.  Armstrong's  place  ?"  she  asked ;  and 
I  fancied  that  the  color  on  her  cheek  deepened  a 
little,  just  a  shade,  as  she  spoke. 

"  Yes,  that  is  Greyholt,"  I  answered.  "  Do  you 
know  the  family  well  ?" 

"  Oh,  no ;  I  do  not  know  the  family  at  all,"  she 

said.      "  I    knew   Mr.   Kenneth   Armstrong   after   a 

fashion  ;  that  is,  as  we  know  people  whom  we  meet 

in  society, — a  sort  of  surface  acquaintance.     I  did 

D  7 


74 


EXPIATION. 


not  even  know  that  he  lived  in  Altona  until  we  met 
at  Highborough  this  morning." 

So  that  was  the  end  of  my  incipient  romance,  as 
far  as  she  was  concerned.  She  had  not  come  up 
here  lured  by  the  remembered  music  of  a  lover's 
voice  or  by  the  magic  of  his  smile.  On  the  whole, 
I  was  glad  of  it.  Old  maids  are  "  particular,"  you 
know;  and  perhaps  I  should  have  liked  my  young 
guest  the  less  if  I  had  been  forced  to  think  that  she 
had  come  to  the  mountains  in  pursuit  of  an  unac 
knowledged  lover, — even  one  as  worthy  of  a  maiden's 
love  as  Kenneth  Armstrong. 

Dr.  Bellinger  returned  to  New  York  after  a  few 
days,  during  which  he  gave  himself  wholly  up  to 
the  delight  of  living  over  again  the  old  boyish  days 
when  Altona  had  been  all  the  world  to  him.  Father 
and  mother  were  gone,  it  is  true,  brothers  and  sisters 
were  scattered  or  dead,  and  the  farm  had  passed  into 
other  hands.  None  of  his  kindred  remained  to  wel 
come  him.  But  the  wild  wood-paths  were  still  the 
same;  the  trout-stream  brawled  and  sparkled  just  as 
it  had  done  when,  a  barefoot  boy,  he  had  followed 
its  windings  all  day  long ;  the  school-house  looked 
so  strangely  familiar  that  he  listened  involuntarily 
for  the  shout  and  halloo  of  boisterous  urchins,  who 
had  been  wrestling  with  the  world  for  many  a  year; 
the  blue,  overarching  sky  was  just  as  peaceful  and 
serene,  the  mountains  were  as  royally  magnificent,  as 
when  his  young  heart  first  thrilled  before  their  solemn 
grandeur.  The  thrush  and  the  veery  sang  as  sweetly, 
the  humming-birds  darted  as  blithely  from  flower  to 
flower,  the  timid  partridges  lured  him  from  their 


EXPIA  TION. 


75 


nests  with  tricks  as  quaint  and  as  human  as  those 
their  far-off  ancestors  had  used  for  the  same  wise  pur 
pose;  the  very  humble-bees  droned  away  in  the  hot 
noons  as  drowsily  and  tunefully  as  in  the  days 
gone  by. 

"And  the  strawberries  are  just  as  red  and  odorous, 
and  the  honey  just  as  sweet,"  he  had  said,  on  the  last 
evening  of  his  stay,  as  he  sat  at  my  table  and  helped 
himself  liberally  to  both.  "  Elsie,  when  our  ship 
comes  in,  we  will  retire  from  business  and  make  unto 
ourselves  a  paradise  here  in  Altona." 

"  Say  rather,  when  there  are  no  more  sick  people 
in  the  world,"  she  had  answered,  laughing,  "  no 
more  wrork  to  be  done,  and  no  more  wretched,  home 
sick  souls  for  you  to  look  after.  We  shall  not  have 
our  paradise  yet  awhile,  Uncle  Howard." 

Until  after  he  went,  I  saw  comparatively  little  of 
Elsie,  for  he  kept  her  with  him  all  day  long.  No 
spot  that  had  been  trodden  by  his  infant  feet,  but 
must  be  visited  by  hers  also.  Where  he  had  wan 
dered,  she  must  wander;  where  he  had  rested,  she 
must  rest.  And,  last  of  all,  they  went  to  the  grave 
yard  on  the  hill,  and  cleared  away  the  weeds  and 
brambles  from  two  half-forgotten  graves. 

Neither  did  he  forget  the  old  villagers  who  had 
petted  him  when  a  boy,  nor  the  farmers  who  had  been 
friends  of  his  father's,  and  whose  hard  yet  kindly 
hands  had  borne  him  to  his  rest.  Elsie  must  see  and 
know  them  all ;  and  before  she  had  been  a  week  in 
Altona  she  had  a  larger  circle  of  acquaintance  than 
Kenneth  and  Clyde  had  made  in  all  the  years  of  their 
living  there. 


EXPIATION. 


CHAPTER    VIII. 

THE  days  flew  on  silver  wings, — for  me,  I  mean. 
When  I  had  thought,  with  a  slight  feeling  of  dread, 
of  having  my  quiet  broken  in  upon  by  the  advent  of 
Elsie  Meredith,  I  had  little  dreamed  what  the  influx 
of  that  fresh  young  life  would  be  to  me  ;  for  it  was 
life  in  the  truest  sense.  Elsie  lived,  from  the  lightest 
golden  wave  of  her  sunny  hair  to  the  gayly-slippered 
feet  that  peeped  from  beneath  her  morning  robe. 

"  I  did  not  come  here  to  be  a  trouble  to  you,  dear 
Miss  Rossiter,"  she  said,  one  morning.  "  Do  not 
make  a  '  boarder'  of  me,  but  let  me  take  my  place  as 
a  daughter  of  the  house.  May  I  ?" 

And  from  that  time,  even  as  a  daughter  might  have 
done,  she  had  gone  about  the  house,  adding  touches 
of  beauty  here  and  there,  giving  a  new  grace  to  this, 
a  fresher  charm  to  that,  tending  the  flowers,  training 
the  vines,  and  brightening  up  the  old  place  generally, 
until  it  seemed  dearer  and  lovelier  than  ever.  She 
had  brought  her  books,  her  music,  her  work ;  and 
ere  long  there  were  traces  of  her  presence  everywhere, 
— a  graceful  disorder  that,  even  to  my  eyes,  was  more 
charming  than  the  prim  neatness  that  had  been 
almost  inseparable  from  my  way  of  living.  She  per 
vaded  every  room.  Even  the  kitchen  acknowledged 
her  presence  in  lighter  and  more  savory  omelets,  in 
translucent  jellies,  and  in  heaps  of  snowy  foam  piled 
high  on  tremulous  waves  of  gold.  She  touched 


EXPIATION. 


77 


nothing  that  she  did  not  beautify,  if  it  was  only  a 
custard. 

In  the  long  summer  afternoons,  when  the  house 
was  still,  and  the  soft,  perfumed  airs  stole  in  through 
the  open  windows,  we  read  and  worked  and  talked 
together,  almost  as  mother  and  daughter  might  have 
done.  Sometimes,  it  is  true,  when  the  sweetness  of 
this  new  relationship  struck  me  with  fresher  force,  a 
pang  came  with  it,  and,  for  a  moment,  I  felt  as  one 
defrauded  of  his  birthright.  The  instinct  of  mother 
hood  was  strong  within  me,  as  it  is  in  many  a  woman 
who  lives  a  lonely,  isolated  life ;  and  I  could  but  think 
how,  had  the  lot  appointed  me  been  a  different  one, 
fair  daughters  of  my  own  might  now  have  clustered 
about  me,  renewing  my  youth  in  the  beauty  and 
freshness  of  their  own. 

Kenneth  dropped  in  occasionally,  but  less  fre 
quently,  perhaps,  than  had  been  his  habit  heretofore. 
As  for  Clyde,  he  did  not  come  at  all.  I  had  been 
busy  at  home,  and  had  not  exchanged  one  word 
with  him  since  our  conversation  with  regard  to  Miss 
Meredith  on  the  day  before  her  arrival.  I  knew  that 
the  old  whim  still  held  possession  of  him,  but  flat 
tered  myself  that  if  he  were  let  alone  he  would  come 
to  his  senses  after  awhile. 

But  one  morning,  when  Elsie  had  been  with  me 
about  three  weeks,  I  was  out  in  the  yard  tying  up 
some  carnations,  whose  heavy  buds,  swollen  almost 
to  bursting,  drooped  wearily  to  the  ground.  Pretty 
soon,  without  looking  up  from  my  work,  I  became 
aware  that  some  one  was  stealing  softly  along  behind 
the  opposite  hedge.  Presently  he  came  out,  near 

7* 


7  8  EXPIATION. 

where  I  was  at  work,  in  a  position  that  was  not  visible 
from  the  front  windows  of  Cozytoft.  It  was  Clyde, 
as  I  had  suspected. 

"  Good-morning,  Miss  Rossiter." 

"  Good-morning,  sir." 

He  leaped  over  the  fence.  "  Aunty,  aren't  you  going 
to  shake  hands  with  me  ?" 

"Yes,  if  you  think  you  deserve  it;  not  otherwise." 

He  looked  at  me  keenly,  drawing  his  straw  hat 
farther  down  over  his  eyes.  But  he  did  not  extend 
his  hand. 

"  That  is  for  you  to  decide,"  he  said.  "  I've  been 
dreadfully  lonesome  for  three  weeks,  Miss  Rossiter." 

"  Have  you  ?    I'm  glad  of  it." 

"  For  three  weeks.  Just  think  of  it,"  he  went  on, 
not  deigning  to  notice  my  interruption.  "  For  three 
weeks  I  have  been  banished  from  Cozytoft,  and  now 
you  refuse  to  shake  hands  with  me  !" 

"  Have  I  refused  ? — and  who  banished  you  from 
Cozytoft,  I  should  like  to  know  ?" 

"  Why,  you  did.  Aunty,  how  long  is  this  state  of 
things  going  to  last  ?  Because  I  am  getting  tired  of 
it.  If  it  is  to  continue,  I  think  seriously  of  putting 
an  end  to  myself." 

"  Good  !"  I  said.  "  I  honor  your  pluck  and  bra 
very.  It  is  a  truly  noble  thing  to  be  able  to  shuffle 
off  this  mortal  coil  and  not  so  much  as  groan  over  it. 
What  mode  of  self-destruction  do  you  chiefly  affect, — 
pistols,  drowning,  or  the  hari-kari  ?" 

He  turned  on  his  heel  and  walked  off.  But  by  the 
time  I  had  tied  up  one  more  carnation,  he  was  back 
again. 


EXPIA  TION. 


79 


"  Miss  Rossiter,  I  am  thinking  of  going  away  to 
spend  the  rest  of  the  summer." 

Putting  my  arm  within  his,  I  led  him  off  into  the 
shadow  of  the  shrubbery. 

"  How  long  are  you  going  to  keep  up  this  farce, 
Clyde  ?  Be  a  good  boy,  now,  and  come  and  see  us 
this  evening." 

"  Us  !"  he  repeated.  "  What  kind  of  a  person  is 
this  Miss  Meredith? — an  ogress?" 

"  You  know  as  well  as  I  do.  Don't  try  to  make 
me  believe  that  you  have  not  watched  her  going  out 
and  her  coming  in.  You  know  the  very  shade  of 
her  hair  and  the  color  of  her  eyes,  that  are  bluer  than 
your  English  violets." 

He  laughed.  "  You  are  a  wonderful  woman,  aunty : 
omniscient,  and  omnipresent,  and  all  that  sort  of 
thing.  But  I  am  afraid  of  her ;  that's  the  truth.  I'm 
not  much  used  to  young  ladies,  you  know ;  and  I 
would  rather  face  a  regiment.  I  wish  she  was  in 
Beloochistan !" 

"  I  can't  stay  here  to  bandy  words  with  you  any 
longer,  Clyde,"  I  said ;  "  I  must  go  in  and  order  dinner. 
Will  you  come  to  see  me  to-night  ?" 

"Where  will  she  be?" 

"  In  the  moon,  or  making  a  visit  to  the  planet 
Jupiter." 

"  Then  I'll  come,"  he  answered,  gravely.  And,  leap 
ing  the  fence  again,  he  walked  away. 

That  afternoon  Elsie  came  down-stairs  with  her 
broad-brimmed  hat  on,  a  large,  thin  book  under  her 
arm,  and  a  small  basket  in  her  hand. 

"  Whither  awa'?"  I  asked. 


go  EXPIATION. 

"  To  the  woods,  after  ferns  to  press,"  she  answered. 
"They  are  in  full  beauty  now.  And  I  think  the 
orange-lilies  must  be  out.  I  found  any  amount  of 
buds  the  other  day,  but  no  flowers." 

Just  before  sunset  I  saw  her  coming  slowly  along  the 
cross-lot  path  through  the  east  meadow,  laden  with 
lilies  herself,  while  Clyde  Armstrong  carried  the  book, 
and  the  basket  overflowing  with  mosses  and  deli 
cate,  trailing  vines.  They  were  chatting  like  two  old 
friends.  Evidently  Clyde's  terror  had  been  of  short 
duration.  He  held  the  gate  open  for  her  to  pass  in, 
and  then  followed;  a  scarcely  perceptible  shade  of 
embarrassment  crossing  his  features  as  he  caught  a 
glimpse  of  me  upon  the  piazza. 

"Ah,  Miss  Rossiter,  I  have  played  truant,  I  fear, 
and  kept  tea  waiting !"  cried  Elsie,  as  she  came  up 
the  steps  and  seated  herself  upon  the  upper  one, — 
throwing  off  her  hat  and  pushing  back  the  damp,  soft 
curls  that  clustered  about  her  forehead.  "  But  the 
woods  were  so  beautiful  to-day, — and  see,  I  have 
found  such  treasures !  Not  frankincense  and  myrrh, 
but  coral  and  amber  and  pearls  and  gold." 

Dr.  Bellinger  was  at  once  a  naturalist  and  a  philan 
thropist.  One  could  hardly  tell  which  interested  him 
most, — a  rare  fossil,  a  strange  plant,  a  curious  orchid, 
an  odd  mollusk,  or  a  singular  specimen  of  the  genus 
homo.  If  the  latter  needed  help,  however,  that  settled 
the  question,  and  the  Doctor  at  once  turned  to  the 
human  subject.  Elsie  possessed  the  same  tastes, 
either  by  inheritance  or  acquirement.  Nature  was  to 
her  a  marvel  and  a  mystery ;  and  she  revealed  herself 
to  her  as  to  those  only  who  approach  her  shrine  in 


EXPIATION.  gj 

humblest  love  and  reverence.  Whatever  Elsie  sought 
she  found,  whether  it  was  the  shyest  flower  or  the 
tiniest  bird's-nest.  All  wild  things  seemed  to  love  her. 
The  bees  droned  on  unmindful  of  her  presence ;  the 
birds  perked  and  plumed  themselves  and  sang  all  the 
more  sweetly  when  she  was  listening ;  bright-winged 
moths  fluttered  about  her;  the  quaintest  chrysalides 
dropped  at  her  feet.  The  little  brown  tree-toad  would 
hop  upon  her  arm  and  sit  there  blinking  quietly. 
Squirrels  would  deliberately  cross  her  path,  looking 
at  her  with  fearless  eyes.  Perhaps  it  was  because  she 
was  utterly  fearless  herself,  meeting  them  with  no  fine- 
lady  screams  and  tremors,  but  upon  one  broad  plane 
of  love  and  charity.  Certain  it  is  that  even  the  creep 
ing  things  that  to  most  of  us  are  objects  of  fear  and 
repulsion,  to  her  eyes  were  clothed  with  beauty  as 
with  a  garment,  and  she  shrank  neither  from  their 
touch  nor  their  presence. 

So  when  Elsie  spoke  to  me  of  her  treasures  of  coral 
and  amber  and  pearls  and  gold,  I  knew  there  was 
no  girlish  exaggeration  in  the  words.  While  woods 
waved  and  stars  shone  and  waters  sparkled,  all  out-of- 
doors  would  be  to  her  an  Eldorado. 

But  how  could  I  help  looking  at  Clyde  to  see  how  he 
had  endured  an  afternoon's  ramble  with  this  "  ogress"  ? 
He  caught  my  eye  and  smiled,  shaking  his  head  at 
me  from  behind  Elsie's  broad  hat,  which  he  had  picked 
up  and  was  garlanding  with  the  small,  evergreen 
wreaths  of  the  partridge-vine. 

"We  have  had  just  the  pleasantest  walk,  aunty," 
he  said.     "  I  never  knew  that  the  west  woods  were 
half  so  beautiful  before." 
D* 


82  EXPIATION. 

"  That  is  well,"  I  answered.  "  But  come  in  and  take 
your  tea,  both  of  you.  You  must  be  hungry  after 
such  a  tramp ;  ancl  Matty's  biscuits  are  impatient  to 
be  eaten." 

Just  then  Kenneth  came  round  the  corner,  and  I 
called  him. 

"  Come,  Kenneth,  we  are  just  going  to  tea.  Won't 
you  join  us  ?" 

He  came  up  the  path  with  his  sweet,  rare  smile, — 
Kenneth  was  grave  rather  than  frolicsome, — taking 
off  his  hat  and  letting  the  wind  blow  his  brown  locks 
about. 

"  Patsy  gave  me  a  cup  of  tea  some  time  ago,"  he 
said.  "  But  I  am  apt  to  find  your  invitations  irre 
sistible,  aunty.  You  know  that  from  sad  experience." 

As  we  seated  ourselves  at  the  supper-table,  Elsie 
looked  from  one  to  the  other  with  an  amused  face- 

"  How  is  it  that  you  happen  to  have  two  such  tall 
nephews,  Miss  Rossiter?  I  do  not  understand  it." 

"  Oh,  it  was '  ordered,'  as  your  Uncle  Howard  would 
say.  They  were  alone  and  I  was  alone :  so  we 
adopted  each  other." 

A  world  of  merry  badinage  followed,  Elsie  pro 
testing  against  this  order  of  things  as  a  bit  of  manifest 
injustice. 

"  To  think  that  you  should  be  '  Miss  Rossiter'  to 
me,  a  member  of  your  own  household,"  she  said, 
"  and  '  aunty'  to  these  two  stalwart  youths !  I  enter  a 
protest  on  the  spot." 

"  Miss  Rossiter,  how  far  is  it  from  the  Slough  of 
Despond  to  the  Hill  Difficulty?"  asked  Clyde,  slyly. 
"  No,  you  need  not  look  at  me  for  an  explanation, 


EXPIATION.  83 

Kenneth.     This  is  not  a  riddle  to  be  read  of  all 
men." 

"  Be  it  far  or  near,"  I  answered,  "  the  Hill  dwindles 
to  a  molehill  as  one  approaches  it.  What  if  Miss 
Meredith  were  to  be  adopted  also  ?" 

Clyde  looked  at  her  with  a  comical  air  of  anxiety 
and  relief. 

"  Miss  Meredith,  do  you  suppose  you  could  utter 
the  word  '  aunty'  in  your  own  behalf?" 

"  Not  I,"  she  answered,  laughing  ;  "  I  never  follow 
suit.  But  how  would  '  Aunt  Margaret'  do  ?" 

"  Capital !"  cried  Clyde.  "  'O  rare,  pale  Margaret !' 
I'll  exchange  with  you,  Miss  Meredith.  But  this  is 
a  serious  question,  ladies."  And  he  went  on  to  dis 
cuss  the  various  aspects  of  the  case,  setting  forth  the 
rights,  duties,  and  responsibilities  of  each  of  the 
parties  concerned,  and  at  last,  on  a  leaf  torn  from  his 
diary,  drew  up,  in  high-sounding  phrase,  a  sort  of  a 
covenant  or  "  act  of  adoption,"  to  be  signed  by  Elsie 
and  myself. 

Kenneth,  meanwhile,  sat  by,  quietly  watching  the 
two,  with  a  happy  smile  playing  about  the  corners 
of  his  mouth.  Now  he  laughed  outright. 

"  I  wonder  if  any  one  has  been  far-sighted  enough 
to  perceive  the  other  relationships  growing  out  of 
this  wonderful  '  act'  of  Clyde's  drawing  up  ?  It  is 
'  signed,  sealed,  and  delivered,'  however.  There  is  no 
escape  now  for  any  of  us !" 

Elsie  looked  with  bewildered  eyes  from  one  to  the 
other. 

Clyde  clapped  his  hands.  "  Kenneth,  you  are  a 
very  Solomon  !  My  fair  cousin,  I  salute  you  across 


84 


EXPIA  TION. 


this  vast  expanse  of  tablecloth."  And  he  stretched 
his  hand  over  the  little  round  table. 

Smiling  at  him,  she  placed  hers  in  it  for  an  instant, 
but  withdrew  it  before  he  had  time  to  raise  it  to  his 
lips. 

Meanwhile,  Kenneth  looked  at  Clyde  much  as  one 
would  look  upon  the  gambols  of  a  kitten. 

We  rose  from  the  table,  and  went  out  upon  the 
porch.  The  light  breeze  that  had  rustled  the  maple- 
leaves  all  day  had  died  away.  All  was  soft,  sweet, 
dewy,  and  still.  Two  or  three  stars  shone  tranquilly 
amid  the  blue,  and  the  moon,  a  pale  crescent,  hung 
just  above  the  brow  of  Mount  Hoar.  Fireflies  were 
dancing  over  the  meadow,  and  the  long,  sad  notes  of 
the  whip-poor-will  sounded  from  the  woods  behind 
Greyholt.  The  quiet  serenity  of  the  night  impelled 
us  all  to  silence.  Clyde,  who  had  been  in  unwonted 
spirits,  for  a  time  resisted  its  influence,  and  tried  to 
engage  Elsie  in  a  running  fire  of  repartee.  But  it 
jarred. 

"  Hush !"  said  Kenneth,  laying  his  hand  lightly 
upon  his  brother's  arm.  "Hush,  Clyde;  in  such  a 
night  as  this,  '  silence  is  golden.'  " 

But  after  awhile  he  rose  softly  and  went  into  the 
parlor,  whence  he  soon  returned  with  Elsie's  guitar. 

" '  Silence  is  golden,' "  he  said,  as  he  hung  the 
black  ribbon  about  her  neck,  "  unless  when  it  can  be 
broken  by  music.  Miss  Meredith,  will  you  sing  ?" 

"  What  shall  it  be  ?"  And  she  struck  a  few  tender 
chords  with  fingers  that  gleamed  like  ivory  in  that 
pale  light. 

"What    you    please.      But,"   he    added,   after  a 


EXPIATION.  85 

moment's  thought,  "  I  heard  you  sing  the  song  of 
Elaine — '  the  lily  maid  of  Astolat' — once." 

"Where  and  when  ?"  she  asked,  lifting  her  eyes  to 
his.  "  I  do  not  remember.  It  is  very  sad ;  but  you 
shall  have  it,  if  you  will." 

And  she  sang : 

"  Sweet  is  true  love,  though  given  in  vain,  in  vain ; 
And  sweet  is  death,  who  puts  an  end  to  pain : 
I  know  not  which  is  sweeter,  no,  not  I. 

"  Love,  art  thou  sweet  ?  then  bitter  death  must  be ; 
Love,  thou  art  bitter ;  sweet  is  death  to  me. 

0  love,  if  death  be  sweeter,  let  me  die. 

"  Sweet  love,  that  seems  not  made  to  fade  away, 
Sweet  death,  that  seems  to  make  us  loveless  clay, 

1  know  not  which  is  sweeter,  no,  not  I." 

Elsie's  voice  was  peculiar.  I  never  heard  another 
like  it.  Not  strong  in  itself,  it  yet  thrilled  you  with 
some  strange,  magnetic  power.  It  was  a  "  thrilling, 
tender,  proud,  pathetic  voice,"  like  that  we  read  of 
in  "Aurora  Leigh," — clear  as  a  silver  bell  and  softer 
than  the  faintest  whisper  of  the  night-wind; — a  soar 
ing  voice,  too,  that  seemed  born  not  of  the  flesh  but 
of  the  spirit.  Long  afterward,  when  she  had  learned 
to  know  her  well,  Patsy  said  to  me,  "  If  that  girl 
ever  goes  to  heaven,  she'll  have  to  take  that  voice 
of  hers  along;  you  see  if  she  don't.  They  hain't 
got  anything  half  so  sweet  up  there,  I'll  bet,  with  all 
their  harps  and  things."  She  did  not  mean  to  be 
irreverent.  But  there  was  an  individuality  about 
the  voice.  You  could  not  think  of  Elsie  in  earth  or 
heaven  apart  from  it. 


86  EXPIATION. 

As  she  sang,  Kenneth  stood  with  folded  arms, 
leaning  against  a  pillar,  looking  down  upon  the  fair, 
sweet  face  upturned  in  the  faint  starlight;  while  Clyde 
had  taken  his  position  at  her  feet.  The  latter  toyed 
with  the  fringe  of  her  shawl,  and  half  leaned  toward 
her,  as  if  drawn  by  some  power  stronger  than  him 
self,  as  the  notes  rose  and  swelled,  then  died  away  in 
long  and  lingering  cadence.  The  former  wore  upon 
his  face  the  very  look  that  had  startled  me  on  the 
day  when  Elsie  first  came  to  Altona.  I  had  not  seen 
it  since ;  and  so  cool  and  reticent  had  been  his  bear 
ing  toward  my  guest,  that  I  had  taken  myself  to  task 
for  my  vain  imaginings. 

"  Go  on,"  he  said,  in  a  low,  husky  voice,  as  she 
ceased  singing.  "Something  else,  please!" 

Dropping  her  guitar,  she  leaned  back  against  the 
woodbine  of  the  porch,  and  without  accompaniment 
sang  one  of  those  grand  old  Latin  hymns  that  for 
countless  generations  have  borne  the  souls  of  men 
up  to  the  very  gates  of  heaven.  Her  voice  soared 
higher  and  higher, — pure,  full,  and  clear, — until  it 
seemed  as  if  those  gates  were  opened  and  we  heard 
the  harpings  and  the  chanting  around  the  great  white 
throne ;  then  it  dropped  to  earth,  like  a  falling  star, 
and  all  was  still  again. 

The  mere  commonplaces  of  society  seemed  out  of 
keeping  in  Elsie's  presence.  No  one  of  us  thought 
of  complimenting  her  upon  her  singing, — it  would 
have  seemed  like  profanation.  We  sat  awhile  silently, 
in  a  rapt,  lifted  mood,  —  one  of  those  moods  in 
which,  doubtless,  we  hold  communion  with  angels 
unawares. 


EXPIATION.  87 

Then  Kenneth  unfolded  his  arms  and  drew  a  long 
breath. 

"Thank  you,"  he  said,  softly, — "thank  you. 
Good-night." 

He  laid  his  hand  upon  Clyde's  shoulder  with  a 
touch  that  said,  "  Come."  And  the  two  brothers 
went  down  the  garden-path,  across  the  road  and 
under  the  arched  gateway,  disappearing  at  last  be 
neath  the  overhanging  boughs  of  the  maples. 


CHAPTER    IX. 

"Is  it  to  be  'Elsie,'  or  'Miss  Meredith/  my  fair 
cousin  ?  Tell  me  which,  quick  !  before  I  make  my 
morning  salutations." 

Such  was  Clyde's  greeting  the  next  morning,  as 
he  peeped  into  the  parlor  where  Elsie  was  busy  with 
her  ferns  and  grasses.  She  turned  her  bright  face 
toward  him  with  a  smile. 

"It  must  be  'Elsie,'  I  suppose,  if  the  fates  have 
made  us  cousins.  '  Miss  Meredith'  would  be  too 
formal  in  such  a  relationship.  But,  in  good  truth,  I 
never  was  over-scrupulous  in  such  matters.  You 
will  not " 

She  hesitated,  and  Clyde  said,  softly, — 

"What?" 

"  You  will  not,  I  am  sure,  be  any  more  likely  to 
forget  what  is  due  to  me  as  a  lady  because  you  call 
me  by  the  name  my  mother  gave  me." 


88  EXPIATION. 

A  quick  flush  rose  to  his  forehead.  "Thank 
you,"  he  said,  bowing  over  her  hand  with  a  low 
reverence.  "  You  shall  never  repent  doing  me  this 
grace." 

There  was  a  silence  between  them  for  a  moment : 
Elsie's  thoughts  were  wandering  back  into  her  past. 

"  My  mother,"  she  said,  softly,  at  last, — "  she  is 
like  a  beautiful  myth  to  me, — and  nothing  more.  Do 
you  remember  yours  ?" 

Clyde  started,  and  a  look  of  bewilderment  and  pain 
swept  over  his  face.  It  was  like  the  sudden,  unex 
plained  terror  of  a  child  who  peers  into  the  darkness 
in  seach  of  it  knows  not  what.  His  cheeks  blanched, 
and  his  features  contracted. 

Elsie,  generally  calm  and  self-controlled,  gave  a 
little  scream  of  dismay.  "  Oh,  what  have  I  done  ? 
what  have  I  said  ?"  she  cried.  "  Mr.  Armstrong,  you 
are  ill.  What  can  I  do  for  you  ?" 

Her  voice  seemed  to  restore  him  to  himself.  He 
passed  his  hand  over  his  eyes  and  pushed  back  the 
hair  that  had  fallen  upon  his  forehead.  Great  drops 
of  sweat  stood  like  beads  upon  his  temples. 

"  It  is  nothing,"  he  said,  in  a  voice  that  trembled  a 
little, — "  it  is  nothing ;  a  momentary  spasm,  that  is 
all.  What  were  we  talking  about  ?" 

I  had  passed  out  of  the  parlor  soon  after  Clyde 
came  in,  so  that  I  had  not  heard  their  conversation. 
An  hour  afterward,  Elsie  came  to  my  room,  where  I 
was  busy  with  some  sewing,  and  narrated  the  above 
episode. 

"  It  is  the  strangest  thing,"  she  said.  "  What  can 
it  mean,  Aunt  Margaret  ?"  We  had  already  made  a 


EXPIATION. 


89 


compact  of  our  own  that  that  should  be  her  name  for 
me  henceforth.  "  Can  it  be  possible  that,  after  the 
lapse  of  so  many  years,  the  mere  mention  of  his 
mother  could  affect  him  so  powerfully?  Besides," 
she  added,  slowly,  as  if  going  through  with  some 
process  of  mental  analysis,  "  his  emotion  seemed  to 
spring  less  from  grief  than  from  dread  and  horror. 
I  shall  never  speak  to  him  of  Mrs.  Armstrong  again ; 
that  is  certain." 

"  It  is  best  that  you  should  not,"  I  answered.  "  I 
should  have  warned  you.  Years  ago,  when  the 
family  first  came  to  Altona,  it  became  evident  that, 
for  some  reason,  the  last  Mrs.  Armstrong  was  not 
to  be  talked  about.  I  doubt  if  Clyde  has  heard  her 
so  much  as  alluded  to  from  that  day  to  this." 

"  But  strangers  like  myself " 

"  They  seldom  see  strangers ;  and  they  have  but 
little  intercourse  with  the  village  people.  There  is 
some  mystery  about  Clyde's  mother,  Elsie.  So  much 
it  is  only  right  that  you  should  know.  Six  years 
ago  I  laughed  at  Patsy  for  saying  so ;  but  it  is  the 
truth,  nevertheless." 

Elsie  remained  quiet  for  some  time ;  then  she  said, 
"  What  do  you  think  it  is,  Aunt  Margaret  ?" 

"  I  do  not  know,  dear ;  I  cannot  even  guess.  Of 
course  the  most  natural  supposition  is  that  she  dis 
graced  her  family  in  some  way,  and  that  her  memory 
is  exquisitely  painful  to  them,  especially  to  Clyde. 
They  seem  to  try  to  forget  her  utterly, — to  make  her 
even  as  if  she  had  never  been." 

"  It  is  terrible !"  said  Elsie.  And  as  the  slight 
tremor  in  her  voice  made  me  look  up  from  my  work, 

8* 


9o 


EXPIA  TION. 


I  saw  that  her  cheek  was  flushed  and  large  tears  were 
stealing  over  it  unnoticed.  "  Oh,  I  am  sorry  for  her, 
Aunt  Margaret !  No  matter  what  she  did,  she  was 
Clyde's  mother.  She  had  borne  the  unutterable 
anguish  for  him,  she  had  played  with  his  baby  curls, 
and  pillowed  his  head  upon  her  breast.  Just  to  die — 
why,  that  were  nothing !  But  to  be  so  forgotten,  so 
ignored, — to  be  such  an  outcast  from  love  and 
memory, — oh,  it  is  terrible!  Aunt  Margaret,  what 
ever  she  may  have  done,  one  can  have  only  pity  for 
her!" 

"  That  some  sin  of  hers  was  the  foundation  of  all 
this  sorrowful  mystery,"  I  answered,  "  it  is  impossible 
for  me  to  doubt.  But  God's  mercy  is  infinite,  his 
love  is  long-enduring.  We  will  believe  that  his  great 
compassion  sought  her  out  in  her  wanderings,  and 
that  she  is  now  in  some  far  land  where  she  is  done 
with  grief  and  tears.  Perhaps  she  is  sorry  for  us, 
Elsie,  and  for  her  children,  who  are  not  done  with 
earth  and  earthly  sorrows." 

"  When  did  she  die,  Aunt  Margaret?" 
"In  185 1  ;  a  little  while  before  they  came  here." 
"  Her  husband — what  sort  of  a  man  was  he  ?" 
"  He  may  have  been  a  stern  man  in  his  younger 
days.     Probably  he  was.     But    he  was    noble   and 
upright.     He  led  an  utterly  blameless  life  here ;  and 
his  devotion  to  Clyde  was  most  touching." 
"  A  Christian,  Aunt  Margaret  ?" 
"  That  depends  upon  what  you  mean  by  the  word. 
He   believed  that   Christ  was   the  Way,  the  Truth, 
and  the  Life ;  and  I  think  that  he  strove  to  follow 
Him,  even  though  afar  off.     He  was   reticent,  like 


EXPIATION.  gi 

Kenneth.  He  did  not  '  wear  his  heart  upon  his 
sleeve,'  even  in  religious  matters." 

Elsie  drew  a  long  breath,  and  laid  her  head  upon 
my  lap,  while  her  hand  sought  mine.  "  I  am  glad 
he  was  good,"  she  said,  simply. 

For  a  few  days  I  imagined  that  Elsie  held  herself 
somewhat  aloof  from  the  two  young  men.  This  little 
shadow  of  mystery  had  startled  her,  as  I  could  plainly 
see.  The  dead  mother  came  up  between  her  and 
them.  But  the  impression  wore  off  after  awhile ;  and 
before  many  weeks  had  passed,  I  became  aware  that 
the  leaves  of  the  old,  yet  ever  new,  romance  were 
being  slowly  turned  before  my  eyes. 

Between  Elsie  and  Clyde  there  had  grown  up — 
perhaps  sprang  up  would  be  the  better  phrase — the 
frankest  and  most  brotherly  and  sisterly  affection. 
He  hovered  about  her  as  a  bee  about  a  flower.  He 
made  constant  demands  upon  her :  his  gloves  needed 
mending,  and  Patsy  was  busy ;  there  was  a  new  flower 
in  his  conservatory,  and  Elsie  must  needs  see  it ;  his 
pet  "  seabright"  had  come  off  the  nest  with  a  brood 
of  animated  puff-balls  no  larger  than  her  thimble, 
and  they  waited  her  inspection  ;  he  had  found  the 
rarest  spray  of  clematis,  and  she  must  paint  it,  with 
feathery  mosses  for  a  background  ;  he  was  tired,  and 
she  must  read  to  him ;  his  head  ached,  and  only 
music  could  cure  it.  He  brought  her  the  earliest 
fruits,  and  the  loveliest  flowers,  arranged  as  only  he 
could  arrange  them.  The  glory  of  the  sunset  paled 
unless  she  saw  it  with  him  ;  the  stars  lost  half  their 
brightness  when  they  ceased  to  shine  on  her. 

Yet,  with  all  this,  there  was  such  open,  boyish 


g2  EXPIATION. 

frankness  in  his  manner  toward  her, — such  an  excess 
of  demonstration,  so  to  speak ; — he  spoke  so  freely 
of  his  admiration  for  her;  he  tried  to  monopolize 
her  in  such  a  peremptory,  childlike  way,  that  it  was 
impossible  to  think — it  seemed  absurd  to  think — 
that  any  deeper  feeling  underlay  it  all.  And  she  met 
him  in  the  same  spirit.  The  most  casual  observer 
could  have  seen  that  her  heart  held  for  Clyde  only 
the  calmest  and  most  passionless  affection. 

Between  her  and  Kenneth  there  was  a  slight,  im 
palpable  veil  of  reserve.  It  was  not  coldness;  it  was 
not  distance.  Indeed,  they  drew  very  near  each 
other,  but  they  did  not  touch.  It  was  not  a  cloud. 
It  was  more  like  the  filmy  gossamer  that  sometimes 
lies  upon  the  roses  in  the  cool,  dewy  freshness  of  a 
summer  morning,  and  which  vanishes  utterly  when 
once  the  sun  arises.  When  their  sun  arose,  this 
would  vanish  also. 

For  Kenneth  loved  her.  I  who  knew  him  so  well 
read  this  secret  clearly.  He  had  loved  her,  I  was 
satisfied,  even  before  she  came  to  Altona.  Very  pos 
sibly  it  had  then  been  but  an  incipient  love,  of  which 
he  was  hardly  conscious, — one  of  young  manhood's 
sweet,  intangible  dreams,  from  which  the  shock  of 
grief  had  partially  awakened  him. 

But,  whatever  it  might  have  been  then,  now  it  had 
grown  to  be  the  one  love  that  should  color  his  whole 
life.  Not  that  he  betrayed  this  by  any  unmanly  weak 
ness  ;  not  that  there  was  anything  in  his  words  or 
bearing  at  which  the  most  fastidious  delicacy  could 
have  taken  alarm.  As  I  have  so  often  said,  he  was 
strong  and  reticent.  He  could  wait.  He  would  not 


EXPIA  TION. 


93 


uncover  the  seed  to  see  if  it  had  sprouted.  He 
would  not  tear  open  the  rosebud  that  he  might  drink 
in  its  fragrance  before  the  time.  Sometime,  please 
God,  he  would  woo  and  win  this  fair  girl,  this  peer 
less  woman,  and  she  should  be  his, — his  wife, — the 
crown  and  glory  of  his  manhood.  But  he  could  be 
patient,  as  nature  is  patient,  and  wait  for  the  develop 
ment  of  fruit  and  flower. 

For  Kenneth  Armstrong  knew  that  if  he  did  not 
frighten  her  by  undue  precipitancy,  he  could  win 
Elsie  Meredith's  love.  He  knew  that  he  was  strong 
enough,  that  his  love  was  potent  enough,  to  draw 
her  to  himself  if  only  he  had  wisdom  and  patience. 
But  her  nature  could  not  be  forced  or  hurried.  It 
must  turn  slowly  and  deliberately  to  the  man  of  her 
choice;  and,  once  having  turned,  it  would  henceforth 
know  "neither  variableness  nor  shadow  of  turning." 

Do  not  think  that  he  told  me  this.  He  was  the 
last  man  on  earth  who  would  have  babbled  of  his 
loves  or  his  griefs.  Some  things  I  saw,  and  my  own 
intuitions  taught  me  much.  But  in  telling  this  story 
I  must  occasionally  blend  the  knowledge  I  now  have 
with  that  which  I  then  had,  and  look  at  things  from 
the  vantage-ground  that  the  years  have  given  me. 

I  have  said  that  there  was  a  slight  veil  of  reserve 
between  himself  and  Elsie.  I  think  he  was  well 
pleased  that  it  should  be  there.  He  would  brush  it 
away  upon  some  day  of  days.  Meanwhile  it  was 
sweet  to  dream  of  all  that  lay  behind  it. 

It  was  easy  to  see  that  Clyde's  affection  for  Elsie 
gave  Kenneth  great  delight.  Ever  since  his  father 
died,  he  had  thought  first  of  his  brother,  then  of 


94 


EXPIATION. 


himself.  Now  as  he  looked  down  the  years  he  saw 
how  much  this  girl  whom  he  loved,  and  who  in  his 
heart  of  hearts  he  believed — as  he  had  reason  to 
believe — was  beginning  to  love  him,  would  be  to 
Clyde  also.  She  would  make  a  home  for  him  too. 
It  would  be  a  new  interest  in  his  life.  They  would 
have  so  much  in  common :  every  flower  that  bloomed, 
every  star  that  shone,  every  bird  that  sang,  every 
insect  that  danced  its  brief  life  away  in  the  summer 
sunshine,  would  be  an  additional  bond  between  them. 
Clyde  loved  music  too,  although  he  was  not  a  musi 
cian  himself;  and  Elsie's  rare  voice  would  be  to  him 
a  source  of  never-failing  joy. 

And,  by-and-by,  it  might  be  that  God  would  send 
fair  children  to  call  him  father,  and  to  climb  upon 
his  knee.  His  heart  beat  quicker  at  this  thought, 
and  a  mist  of  happy  tears  gathered  in  his  eyes.  Yet 
even  then  his  gladness  was  half  for  Clyde.  They 
should  be  his  children  also,  brightening  his  life  with 
their  innocent  joyousness,  and  making  of  it  a  still 
dearer  and  fairer  thing. 

For  no  dream  of  Clyde's  marriage  ever  flitted 
across  Kenneth's  brain,  even  in  the  night-watches. 
No  child  of  Clyde's  smiled  out  of  the  far  future,  with 
its  father's  great  dark  eyes,  tossing  back  from  its 
white  forehead  rich  waves  of  tawny  hair. 

To  all  of  us  it  seemed  that  Elsie's  influence  over 
Clyde  was  something  to  rejoice  in.  He  was  calmer 
in  his  moods,  more  quiet  and  self-controlled ;  he 
seemed  less  passionate,  less  the  child  of  impulse,  that 
summer  than  ever  before.  Then  she  enlarged  his 
circle  of  interests,  and  brought  him  into  closer  rela- 


EXPIA  TION. 


95 


tions  with  his  kind.  For  her  uncle's  sake,  Elsie  kept 
in  her  heart  a  warm  place  for  all  who  had  known  or 
loved  him  in  his  boyhood.  She  had  the  power,  which 
it  may  be  both  the  brothers  lacked,  of  adapting  her 
self  to  all  classes  of  people.  She  was  at  home  alike 
with  the  rich  and  the  poor,  the  high  and  the  low,  the 
learned  and  the  unlearned.  The  little  ragged  bare 
foot  boys  who  brought  me  trout  from  the  mountain 
streams  were  as  interesting  to  her  as  the  "  curled 
darlings  of  fortune"  who  walked  with  their  French 
nurses  on  Broadway  or  the  avenues.  But,  aside 
from  all  this,  she  conscientiously  kept  up  her  acquaint 
ance  with  all  those  whom  her  uncle  had  pointed  out 
to  her  as  his  old  friends.  She  remembered  who  had 
given  him  the  little  spotted  pig  that  he  had  carried 
home  through  the  woods,  in  a  bag  slung  over  his 
shoulder ;  in  whose  hill-pastures  he  had  gone  a-black- 
berrying ;  who  had  shod  his  first  colt,  and  who  had 
taught  him  how  to  make  willow  whistles.  She  knew 
the  women  who  had  been  kind  to  him  ;  which  one 
had  knitted  him  the  striped  mittens ;  which  had  made 
"  turn-overs"  for  him  ;  and  which  had  kissed  him  and 
bade  God  bless  him  when  he  started  out  to  seek  his 
fortune.  She  visited  them  all,  until  her  smile  and 
voice  became  familiar  pleasures,  and  the  little  children 
nestled  at  her  feet,  or  clung  to  her  garments  with 
beseeching  hands. 

Sometimes  Kenneth  went  with  her;  sometimes  I 
went ;  but  oftenest  Clyde,  who  had  constituted  him 
self  her  knight-errant,  ready  at  all  times  to  do  her 
will  and  wander  wherever  she  bade  him.  But 
through  her,  both  the  young  men  were  brought 


96 


EXPIATION. 


more  frequently  in  contact  with  their  neighbors.  In 
some  way  she  bridged  over  the  chasm  between  them  ; 
or,  when  she  could  not  do  that,  she  threw  an  electric 
chain  of  thought  across,  upon  which  their  sympathies 
passed  and  re-passed. 

"  If  this  Elsie  of  yourn  had  lived  in  Salem  in  the 
days  when  they  was  a-making  such  a  fuss  about  the 
witches,"  said  Patsy,  one  morning,  "  she'd  ha'  been 
took  up,  forzino." 

"  Why  so  ?  "  I  asked,  smiling  as  I  mentally  con 
trasted  my  sweet,  golden-haired  Elsie  with  the  with 
ered  and  wrinkled  crones  who  had  suffered  on  Witch 
Hill. 

"  Oh,  I  do'  know,"  she  answered.  "  There's  no 
denying  of  her  anything.  I  expect  if  she  should 
ask  me  for  my  head,  I  should  take  it  right  off  and 
give  it  to  her.  I  hain't  any  other  idee.  It's  wonder 
ful  how  she  gets  round  folks  and  makes  'em  like  her 
whether  or  no.  Dennis  he  thinks  the  ground  ain't 
good  enough  for  her  to  tread  on.  The  way  he  does 
bow  and  scrape  and  touch  that  old  hat  of  hisn  when 
ever  he  gets  a  glimpse  of  her  is  a  caution  to  common 
folks.  And  as  for  big  dictionary  words,  the  minister 
ain't  no  comparison !  What  are  you  laughing  at, 
Miss  Rossiter?" 

"  At  Dennis's  '  dictionary  words,'  as  you  call 
them,"  I  answered.  "  How  do  you  think  he  twisted 
the  King's  English  about,  in  order  to  tell  Clyde  he 
had  been  driving  too  fast  last  night  ?" 

Patsy  shook  her  head.  "  Couldn't  guess.  Only 
I'm  sure  he  went  round  Robin  Hood's  barn  with  it. 
Where  there's  two  roads,  he  allus  takes  the  longest." 


EXPIA  TION. 


97 


" '  Misther  Clyde,'  he  said,  ruefully,  smoothing 
down  the  Brownie's  chestnut  mane,  and  pointing  to 
some  tiny  flecks  of  foam  upon  his  sides, — '  Misther 
Clyde,  there's  no  animal  in  nayture  that,  when 
animated,  its  constitution  will  withstand  being  druv 
beyont  its  liabilities  !'  " 

"  That's  near-about  equal  to  what  he  said  to  me 
about  the  eggs."  And  Patsy's  eyes  twinkled.  "  It  was 
last  winter,  and  Dennis  was  dreadful  careless  about 
bringing  of  'em  in ;  and  if  he  hadn't  been,  the  nest- 
eggs  was  all  the  while  getting  froze.  So  one  day, 
when  I  was  down  to  the  store,  I  happened  to  see 
some  o'  them  new-fangled  china  ones,  and  thinks  I 
to  myself,  '  I'll  try  'em.'  So  I  bought  half  a  dozen 
of  'em,  and  took  'em  home  and  showed  'em  to 
Dennis.  He  was  as  tickled  as  a  boy  with  a  new  top, 
and  says  he,  '  Miss  Patsy,' — he  never  says  '  Miss'  to 
me  only  when  he  feels  oncommon  good-natured, — 
'  Miss  Patsy,  them  eggs  '11  make  them  hens  lay 
spon-to;/-eously,  without  root  or  culture  !'  I  thought 
that  was  settin'  of  'em  up  pretty  high ;  but  we  did 
get  more  eggs  afterwards,  that's  a  fact." 


98 


EXPIATION. 


CHAPTER   X. 

IT  was  in  June  that  Elsie  first  came  to  me ;  and  I 
think  it  must  have  been  some  time  along  in  September 
when  I  first  began  to  perceive  that  something  troubled 
her.  She  was  not  given  to  tears  or  sighing,  and  her 
uneasiness  betrayed  itself  chiefly  in  a  sort  of  restless 
activity  that  drove  her  from  one  employment  to 
another  with  scarce  a  moment's  cessation.  She 
seemed  to  be  striving  not  to  think.  Something,  I 
fancied,  had  come  between  her  and  Kenneth. 

That  it  would  all  come  out  right  in  the  end  I  did  not 
doubt,  for  I  had  unlimited  faith  in  both ;  and  less  ob 
servant  eyes  than  mine  might  have  seen  that  there  was 
a  strong  mutual  attraction.  So  I  consoled  myself 
by  remembering  that  while  "  the  course  of  true  love 
never  did  run  smooth,"  it  was  pretty  sure  to  overrule 
all  obstacles  and  triumph  at  last. 

Meanwhile  I  watched  them  tenderly,  weaving  this 
one  golden  thread  of  romance  into  the  brown  "warp 
and  woof"  of  my  daily  living.  Elsie  became  a  curious 
study  to  me.  It  was  not  long  before  I  began  to  see 
that  when  out  of  Kenneth's  presence  she  was  dis 
posed  to  be  cool  and  critical,  to  weigh  him  in  the 
balances  of  her  judgment,  to  test  him  in  the  crucible 
of  her  reason.  Something  that  she  had  seen  in  him, 
or  missed  in  him, — I  could  not  tell  which, — had 
aroused  her  from  love's  first  unquestioning  dream, 
and  she  was  trying  to  look  at  him  with  clear  eyes, 


EXPIATION. 


99 


undimmed  by  mists  or  glamour.  On  the  other  hand, 
I  saw  that  the  charm  of  his  presence  was  as  potent 
as  ever.  She  would  enter  the  room  where  he  waited 
her  coming,  incased,  as  it  were,  in  armor  of  steel. 
Cool,  quiet,  and  self-controlled,  she  would  seat  her 
self  at  a  distance  from  him,  and  for  awhile  their  con 
versation  would  remain  upon  a  dead  level,  never 
rising  above  commonplaces.  If  her  eyes  met  his,  it 
would  be  with  scarce  a  gleam  of  soul-recognition  in 
their  blue  depths.  But  ere  long,  some  word,  or  tone, 
or  look  of  Kenneth's  would  touch  the  electric  chord, 
and  her  whole  being  would  respond,  as  the  harp 
responds  to  the  touch  of  the  master.  It  was  pretty 
to  watch  her  then :  to  see  the  slow  color  come  stealing 
to  her  cheek,  to  see  the  frost  of  her  manner  dissolve, 
to  see  the  lines  of  her  face  grow  soft  and  gentle,  and 
her  eyes  light  up  with  warm  and  tender  radiance. 
Finally  the  armor  of  steel  would  drop  off  noiselessly, 
some  unaccountable  change  of  position  would  bring 
them  nearer  together,  until  at  length  they  would  be 
sitting  side  by  side, — the  brown  hair  and  the  golden 
in  dangerous  proximity. 

Then  Clyde  would  come  straying  in, — if,  indeed,  he 
had  not  been  there  before, — and,  throwing  himself 
upon  the  carpet  at  their  feet,  with  his  elbow  resting 
upon  a  low  ottoman,  would  claim  his  share  of  the 
warmth  and  brightness.  And  it  was  never  denied 
him. 

Elsie  had  expected  to  return  to  New  York  about 
the  first  of  October ;  but  before  the  woods  had  begun 
to  kindle  their  autumnal  fires  there  came  a  letter 
from  Dr.  Bellinger  which  changed  all  her  plans. 


ICO  EXPIATION. 

Some  unlooked-for  business  emergency  called  him 
abroad,  and  he  wrote  to  request  Elsie  to  remain  in 
Altona  until  his  return,  in  December.  Meanwhile 
their  house  in  West  Fourteenth  Street  was  to  be 
shut  up. 

She  was  both  glad  and  sorry.  And  I,  watching 
quietly  the  little  drama  that  was  being  played  before 
me,  felt  sure  that  a  large  part  of  both  the  gladness 
and  the  sorrow  grew  out  of  her  relation  to  Kenneth 
Armstrong.  I  began  to  wonder  if  there  was  any 
other  lover  in  the  case, — if  her  feet  had  become 
entangled  in  any  of  the  nets  that  are  continually 
spreading  themselves  in  the  path  of  young  maiden 
hood.  Many  a  girl  becomes  caught  in  some  flimsy 
web,  seemingly  the  veriest  gossamer,  yet  from  which 
she  finds  it  impossible  to  extricate  herself;  and  this 
web,  woven  by  the  wrong  hand,  holds  her  heart  a 
restless  prisoner,  so  that  it  cannot  answer  the  call 
of  its  true  lord  and  master.  Then,  again,  it  was  very 
possible  that  she  did  not  read  the  story  of  Kenneth's 
devotion  as  I  read  it.  Clyde  was  evidently  unsus 
picious,  and  perhaps  her  perceptions  were  at  fault  in 
this  matter. 

But,  at  all  events,  after  a  day's  unrest,  she  quietly 
settled  herself  for  a  stay  of  two  or  three  months 
longer  in  Altona ;  so  planning  her  life,  however,  so 
crowding  the  hours,  as  to  leave  little  leisure  for 
dreaming. 

One  still  day,  early  in  October,  we  four — Elsie, 
Kenneth,  Clyde,  and  myself — were  all  in  my  little 
parlor.  Elsie,  in  a  dark-blue  dress,  relieved  only  by 
soft  laces  at  throat  and  wrists  and  the  two  or  three 


EXPIATION.  IOI 

bright  curls  that  drooped  from  her  heavy  golden  coil, 
sat  at  her  easel  painting  a  wreath  of  autumn  leaves ; 
and  I  was  busy  with  some  bit  of  needle-work.  Clyde 
was  fluttering  about  as  usual,  now  chirruping  to  my 
canary,  now  quarreling  with  Elsie  as  to  the  arrange 
ment  of  her  picture,  with  learned  arguments  pro  and 
con,  now  making  a  confused  medley  of  the  contents 
of  my  work-basket,  and  anon  laying  sacrilegious 
hands  upon  the  guitar  that  lay  upon  the  table. 

"  What  are  you  trying  to  do,  Clyde  ?"  said  Kenneth, 
at  last,  as  a  low,  pathetic  strain  died  away  in  horrible 
discord.  "  Is  that  a  tune,  or  not  ?"  And  he  clapped 
both  hands  over  his  ears. 

"A  compliment  to  my  musical  abilities!"  Clyde 
answered,  with  a  gay  laugh.  "  I  was  playing  '  The 
Harp  that  once  through  Tara's  Halls/  and  you  coolly 
ask  me  if  it  is  a  tune.'  Where  are  your  ears,  sir?" 

"Just  released  from  a  state  of  torture,"  was  the 
reply.  "  Sit  down  and  keep  quiet,  Clyde,  for  I  have 
something  to  read  to  the  ladies." 

"Not  I;  I  am  not  in  a  listening  mood  just  now. 
But  read  away,  Kenneth  ;  I'll  be  back  presently."  And 
very  soon  we  heard  him  calling  to  Dennis  as  he  strode 
up  the  hill  in  the  direction  of  the  conservatory. 

"  What  have  you  there  ?"  I  asked,  as  Kenneth  drew 
a  small  volume  from  his  pocket. 

"  Nothing  new,"  he  answered.  "  But  will  you  hear 
'  The  Lotus-Eaters  '  ?  This  dreamy,  misty,  Indian- 
summer-like  day  gives  us  the  very  atmosphere  in 
which  the  poem  should  be  read." 

"  Let  us  go  out-of-doors  to  hear  it,  then,"  said  Elsie, 
pushing  back  her  easel, — "  out  in  the  pine-woods,  back 

9* 


102  EXPIATION. 

of  Greyholt.     Here's  your  shawl,  Aunt  Margaret,  and 
I  will  get  mine  in  a  trice." 

We  followed  in  Clyde's  footsteps,  putting  our  heads 
in  at  the  open  sashes  of  the  conservatory  for  an  instant 
to  tell  him  where  to  find  us,  and  then  went  on  into 
the  dim  and  fragrant  silences  where  pines  and  hem 
locks  reigned  supreme.  All  was  warm  and  sweet 
and  still ;  and  there,  leaning  against  a  fallen,  moss- 
grown  giant,  Kenneth  read  to  us : 

"  In  the  afternoon  they  came  unto  a  land 
In  which  it  seemed  always  afternoon. 
All  round  the  coast  the  languid  air  did  swoon, 
Breathing  like  one  that  hath  a  weary  dream." 

And  so,  on  and  on,  until  he  came  to  the  fifth  stanza 
of  the  choric  song: 

"  How  sweet  it  were,  hearing  the  downward  stream, 
With  half-shut  eyes  ever  to  seem 
Falling  asleep  in  a  half-dream!" 

Kenneth  was  a  remarkably  fine  reader,  and  as  he 
half  chanted  the  dreamy  poem  in  a  low,  dreamy  mon 
otone,  in  the  light  of  that  dreamy  afternoon,  all  life 
seemed  indeed  to  resolve  itself  into  a  dream.  Toil 
seemed  a  curse,  labor  a  weariness,  and  we  mere  motes 
and  atoms  in  the  sunshine,  to  be  drifting,  drifting,  on 
some  slow,  resistless  current  silently  to  the  end.  I 
saw  Elsie's  cheek  flush  and  pale,  and  the  shadows 
deepen  in  her  eyes  as  he  read : 

"  Is  there  any  peace 

In  ever  climbing  up  the  climbing  wave  ? 
All  things  have  rest,  and  ripen  toward  the  grave, 
In  silence  ripen,  fall  and  cease : 
Give  us  long  rest  or  death,  dark  death  or  dreamful  ease." 


EXPIATION. 


103 


But  as  he  went  on,  "  How  sweet  it  were,"  etc.,  she 
started  from  her  seat  and  laid  her  hand  over  the  page. 

"  Stop !"  she  cried, — "  stop  !  Do  not  read  any  more. 
Stop !" 

Kenneth  looked  at  her  in  astonishment,  and  im 
prisoned  the  "rash  intruding"  hand  in  his,  for  an 
instant,  ere  he  closed  the  book. 

"  Not  another  line,  then,"  he  said,  tossing  the  volume 
upon  the  ground.  "  But  what  is  the  trouble  ?" 

Instead  of  replying,  she  turned  suddenly  away 
from  him,  while  tears  rained  from  her  eyes.  After  a 
moment  she  strayed  away  from  us,  farther  back  into 
the  woods. 

Kenneth  turned  to  me  with  a  troubled,  questioning 
glance. 

"  Leave  her  to  herself,"  I  said.  "  She  will  be 
back  presently.  The  words  of  the  poet  touched 
some  chord  in  her  nature  that  vibrated  too  keenly. 
That  is  all." 

After  awhile  I  saw  her  returning  by  an  indirect 
path,  with  a  sweet,  shy  air  of  embarrassment  hover 
ing  about  her  like  a  new  charm.  But  she  went 
straight  up  to  Kenneth,  with  flushed  cheeks  and  wet, 
starry  eyes. 

"  Forgive  me,"  she  said.  "  I  fear  I  was  rude. 
But,  oh  !  that  poem  pained  me  more  than  I  can 
tell." 

He  shook  his  head  as  in  deprecation  of  her  apology. 
Then,  smiling,  he  answered, — 

"  You  must  do  penance  by  explaining  yourself. 
Why  did  it  pain  you  ?" 

"  I  do  not  know  that  I  can  tell  you,"  she  said. 


I04  EXPIATION. 

"  I  believe  it  was  the  unutterable  weariness  betrayed 
in  that  prayer  for  rest.  Yet  it  is  the  weariness  of 
stagnation,  not  of  toil." 

She  picked  up  the  book,  and  turned  over  the  leaves, 

murmuring, — 

"  But  evermore 

Most  weary  seemed  the  sea,  weary  the  oar, 
Weary  the  wandering  fields  of  barren  foam." 

"  We  are  all  dreamers,  more  or  less,"  she  went  on  ; 
"  but  I  want  no  poems  in  praise  of  dreaming,  unless  it 
may  be  the  dream  of  doing.  And  even  then,  unless 
the  brave  dream  culminates  in  a  brave  deed,  I  fail  to 
see  where  the  good  comes  in.  I  feel  like  crying, '  The 
pity  of  it,  lago  !  O  lago,  the  pity  of  it !' " 

"  But,"  said  Kenneth,  after  a  long  pause,  and  utter 
ing  the  words  as  with  a  painful  effort,  "  there  are 
people  in  the  world  who  have  lost  even  the  dream  of 
doing." 

"  But  why  should  they  lose  it  ?"  she  answered, 
turning  toward  him  impetuously.  "  Why  should  any 
man,  how  can  any  man,  be  content  to  sit  down  in 
dreamy  idleness,  however  beautiful  or  however  aes 
thetic  it  may  be  ?  Self-culture  may  be  all  very  well, — 
of  course  it  is  well.  But  it  must  be  culture  with 
an  end  in  view, — springing  not  merely  from  a  wish 
to  grow  into  a  fuller,  nobler  manhood  one's  self, 
but  from  a  desire  to  do  one's  best  for  God  and  for 
humanity.  There  is  so  much  to  be  done,  there  are 
so  many  fields  white  with  the  harvest,  and  the  laborers 
are  few.  Yet  the  great  God  moves  chiefly  through 
human  agencies, — and  shall  his  work  stand  still  while 
men  are  dreamers  or  idlers  ?" 


EXPIATION. 


105 


Elsie's  words  were  uttered  in  a  tone  of  strong 
appeal,  and  I  saw  that  they  thrilled  Kenneth  from 
head  to  foot.  He  looked  at  her  for  a  moment,  as  in 
the  days  of  old  a  man  might  have  looked  upon  an 
inspired  sibyl  who  stood  before  him  in  vestal  purity 
declaring  the  oracles  of  God.  Then  his  eyes  dropped 
beneath  her  searching  glances. 

"  '  They  also  serve  who  only  stand  and  wait,'  "  he 
repeated,  in  a  low,  constrained  voice. 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  "  if  they  can  do  nothing  better. 
But  most  of  us  can.  You  can,  Kenneth  Armstrong. 
Yet  you  are  dreaming  your  days  away  in  this  valley 
of  repose, — you,  who  might  be  working  so  grandly 
for  God  and  for  man  ;  you,  who  might  be  carving  out 
for  yourself  a  place  and  a  name  that  should  shine 
out  through  the  ages, — a  guiding  star  to  myriads  of 
wandering  feet." 

I  saw  it  all  now.  It  was  out  of  the  trouble  and 
perplexity  of  her  own  heart  that  these  stinging  words 
were  wrung.  To  Elsie's  earnest,  thoughtful  eyes 
Kenneth  seemed  an  idler,  a  mere  dreamer.  It  was 
not  strange ;  for  even  I,  who  had  known  all  his 
young  ambitions,  found  myself  often  at  fault  con 
cerning  him. 

He  did  not  answer  her ;  and  after  a  little  she  went 
on,  speaking  as  if  it  were  a  painful  task  to  which  she 
had  forced  herself  and  which  must  be  gone  through 
with : 

"  It   was    said   in    New  York — it   was  whispered 

about  in  society — that  you  were  ambitious  both  to 

do  and  to  be ;  that  you  were  so  earnest  a  student,  so 

indefatigable  a  worker.    Great  things  were  prophesied 

E* 


IO6  EXPIATION. 

of  and  for  you.  Yet  you  have  put  off  the  harness 
even  before  it  had  become  fitted  to  your  shoulders ; 
you  have  ceased  working  even  before  it  is  noon 
day." 

The  voice,  which  had  been  strong  and  clear  when 
she  began  to  speak,  ringing  out  like  a  bugle  -  call, 
faltered  and  broke.  Her  momentary  strength  had 
departed,  and  the  sibyl,  the  pythoness,  sank — or  shall 
I  say  rose  ? — into  the  gentle,  loving  woman.  A 
wondrous  pity  shone  out  of  her  violet  eyes  as  she 
crept  nearer  to  Kenneth  and  laid  her  hand  upon  his 
knee. 

"Forgive  me,"  she  said,  —  "I  have  hurt,  I  have 
wounded  you." 

Well  might  she  say  so ;  for,  though  his  eyes  and 
forehead  were  buried  in  his  hand,  his  cheek  was 
blanched  to  the  hue  of  marble. 

"  I  did  not  wish  to  wound  you,"  she  went  on,  almost 
like  a  penitent  child.  "  I  am  sorry.  But,  oh  !  I  have 
felt  that  I  must  say  this, — so  long,  so  long !" 

At  the  pleading  voice,  his  hand  was  slowly  with 
drawn  from  the  eyes  it  hid,  and  he  laid  it  lightly 
upon  her  head.  Only  for  an  instant.  Then, — 

"  I  have  nothing  to  forgive,"  he  said,  in  a  low, 
tender  voice.  "  Nothing  at  all.  You  have  spoken 
strong  and  noble  words,  and  I  honor  you  for  them. 
They  were  true  words,  too, — as  uttered  from  your 
stand-point.  But  I  cannot  explain  what  justly  seems 
so  strange  to  you.  There  is  but  one  thing  for  me  to 
say.  A  man's  work  cannot  be  measured  until  the 
day  is  ended  and  the  labor  done.  If  I  may  not  bring 
in  full  sheaves  to  lay  at  the  Master's  feet,  I  will  drop 


EXPIATION. 


TO/ 


my  gleanings  there  at  nightfall,  and  perhaps  He  will 
accept  them." 

This  had  gone  far  enough,  and  I  was  thankful  that 
sounds  in  the  distance  gave  me  an  excuse  for  turning 
the  conversation  into  a  different  channel. 

" '  Could  we  but  keep  our  spirits  at  this  height/  " 
I  quoted,  lightly,  "  we  should  not  need  bread  and 
butter.  '  But  this  clay  will  sink  its  spark  immortal ;' 
and  here  come  Clyde,  Patsy,  and  Dennis,  laden  with 
what  looks  marvelously  like  food  for  the  flesh.  I 
prophesy  that  we  are  to  have  an  impromptu  feast  in 
this  sylvan  solitude.  What  say  you  ?" 

Kenneth  rose,  and  shaking  himself  as  one  who 
would  fain  throw  off  a  burden  of  unwelcome  thought, 
peered  under  the  hemlock-boughs  at  the  small  pro 
cession  advancing  toward  us. 

"  I  quite  agree  with  you,"  he  said,  smiling  with 
lips,  if  not  with  eyes;  "  'yonder  cloud'  is  'shaped  like 
a  camel,'  or  'backed  like  a  weasel,'  or  it  is  'very  like 
a  whale,'  just  as  your  ladyship  pleases  to  have  it." 

"  I  please  to  have  it  neither  the  one  nor  the  other, 
good  Polonius,"  I  answered.  "  I'm  hungry. — Clyde, 
you  are  a  jewel !  Sweet  friends,  here  be  peaches 
and  cream,  biscuits  that  are  amber  without  and  snow 
within,  yellow  drifts  of  sponge-cake,  and  dried  beef 
as  tender  and  delicate  as  rose-leaves." 

"And,  feth,  here  is  the  tay  in  the  tay-pot,  yer 
honor,"  said  Dennis,  looking  about  him  in  dire  dis 
may  at  his  inability  to  touch  his  hat  with  both  hands 
full ;  "  and  here  is  the  tay-kettle.  It  was  not  aisy  to 
carry  them  through  the  woods  without  spillin'  a  drop, 
or  gettin'  a  bit  of  a  scratch  upon  the  shinin'  sides  of 


I08  EXPIATION. 

aither  one.  But  Misther  Clyde  threatened  to  hould 
a  dissolution  over  me  head  if  the  laste  harm  befell 
to  'em." 

"  A  '  dissolution,'  Dennis  ?  Pray  what  might  that 
be?" 

"  Indade,  it's  not  meself  that's  knowin',  yer  honor." 
And  Dennis,  carefully  depositing  his  precious  burden 
upon  a  rock  that  stood  "convaynient,"  had  at  last 
the  satisfaction  of  paying  due  reverence  to  Elsie, 
who  had  asked  the  question.  "But  I'll  take  me  oath 
upon  it,  it  was  a  'dissolution'  that  he  said  should  be 
held  over  me  if  the  laste  scratch  came  upon  the  lid 
of  the  tay-pot" 

"An  execution,  —  an  execution,  Dennis!"  cried 
Clyde,  with  a  merry  peal  of  laughter.  "  I  said  there 
would  be  an  execution  on  the  spot, — not  a  'dissolu 
tion.'  You  see,"  he  went  on,  "I  laid  violent  hands 
upon  sundry  of  Patsy's  treasures,  and  I  feel  bound 
to  take  the  best  possible  care  of  them — by  proxy." 

"  I  should  think  so,"  I  said,  as  I  lifted  the  cover 
of  one  of  the  wicker  baskets.  "  Tea-cups  as  fragile 
as  egg-shells,  and  a  solid  silver  tea-pot  for  a  picnic 
in  the  woods  !  I  don't  wonder  that  Patsy  looks  dis 
turbed  in  spirit." 

"  Poor  Patsy!  I'll  make  myself  a  very  Puck  for  the 
rest  of  the  evening,  and  'put  a  girdle  round  about 
the  earth  in  forty  minutes,'  if  such  is  her  pleasure. 
That  will  set  the  matter  straight, — if  my  good  angels 
will  only  take  care  of  the  tea-cups!" 

And  a  very  Puck  he  was,  truly,  until  the  deepen 
ing  shadows  warned  us  home, — the  merriest,  mad 
dest,  tricksiest  sprite  that  ever  turned  the  world 


EXPIATION. 


109 


upside  down,  doing  mischief  in  unknown  quantities, — 
sinning  and  repenting  in  a  breath.  But  I  was  thank 
ful  for  even  a  disturbing  element  that  afternoon. 
Kenneth  and  Elsie  were  both  more  quiet  than  usual; 
and  had  it  not  been  for  Clyde's  sallies,  which  covered 
their  silence  and  kept  Patsy  and  Dennis  in  smothered 
convulsions,  his  little  feast,  beautiful  as  it  was  with 
fruit  and  flowers,  odorous  with  the  resinous  breath 
of  the  pine-trees,  and  musical  as  with  the  harpings 
of  many  harpers,  would  hardly  have  been  a  success. 

It  was  nearly  dusk  when  we  got  home.  Elsie 
hesitated  for  a  moment;  and  then,  taking  a  lamp  from 
the  mantel,  she  said, — 

"  I  am  very  tired,  Aunt  Margaret,  and  I  think  I  will 
go  directly  to  my  room.  Good-night." 

She  kissed  me  and  went  up-stairs. 

But  when,  three  hours  afterward,  I  went  up  to  my 
own  chamber,  her  door  stood  slightly  ajar,  and  I 
looked  in.  She  was  lying  upon  the  bed  in  a  soft 
cashmere  wrapper,  with  her  face  turned  toward  the 
wall. 

I  went  in  and  bent  over  her. 

"  Are  you  asleep  ?"  I  asked.  "  I  fear  you  will  take 
cold." 

She  looked  at  me  with  wide-awake  eyes. 

"  No,"  she  said  ;  "  I  am  only  tired." 

I  took  her  hand,  which  was  hot  and  feverish. 
"  You  are  ill,  I  am  afraid.  Let  me  do  something  for 
you,  dear  child." 

"  Not  ill,  either,"  she  answered.  "  Perhaps  I  am 
a  little  ashamed  of  myself.  I  do  not  quite  know 
whether  I  am  or  not.  Aunt  Margaret,  am  I  like  a 

10 


IIO  EXPIATION. 

little  dog  baying  at  the  moon  ?  Tell  me."  And  she 
drew  me  with  gentle  violence  down  upon  the  bed 
beside  her. 

I  smiled,  but  shook  my  head.  "  Do  not  ask  me 
that  question,"  I  said.  "  I  cannot  answer  it." 

"  Yet  you  know  him  so  much  better  than  I  do. 
Aunt  Margaret,  you  do  not  know  —  I  cannot  tell 
you — but  I  have  been  so  disappointed  in  Kenneth 
Armstrong.  And  this  afternoon  I  could  not  help 
speaking." 

"  How  disappointed  ?"  I  asked. 

"  I  am  not  sure  that  I  can  make  you  understand 
it,"  she  answered.  "  I  did  not  know  him  intimately 
in  New  York ;  but  still  we  met  often  enough  for  me 
to  learn  his  rare  qualities  of  head  and  heart.  Then 
many  of  the  professors  and  students  in  the  medical 
college  were  friends  of  his  and  of  mine,  and  I  heard 
his  praises  chanted  in  most  glowing  terms.  I  heard 
him  spoken  of  as  one  who  was  fired  by  all  lofty 
ambitions ;  one  who  would  be  willing  to  do  all,  to 
dare  all,  to  suffer  all,  if  need  be,  for  the  furtherance 
of  grand  and  noble  ends  ;  one  who  was  sure  to  accom 
plish  great  things  for  science,  for  the  world,  and  for 
himself.  Yes,  for  himself;  and  I  honored  him  none 
the  less  for  that.  I  would  like  my  hero  to  stand 
upon  some  lofty  pedestal  in  the  strong  light  of  noon 
day  ;  and  that  so  standing,  the  searching  eyes  of  the 
multitude  might  be  able  to  find  no  spot  or  blemish 
in  him.  Then,  after  awhile,  I  heard  that  his  father 
was  dead,  and  that  he  had  left  town." 

A  soft  flush  stole  up  to  her  white  forehead,  and  she 
turned  to  me  with  eager,  questioning  eyes. 


EXPIA  TION.  !  1 1 

"What  is  it,  Aunt  Margaret?  I  am  puzzled  at 
myself  and  at  him.  He  has  disappointed  his  friends  ; 
he  has  fallen  out  of  the  ranks,  and  the  great  army  is 
going  on  to  conquest  and  to  victory  without  him ; 
he  is,  as  I  told  him,  dreaming  his  days  away  in  a  sort 
of  aesthetic  idleness.  Yet  as  he  answered  my  tirade 
to-day,  the  grand  patience  of  the  man  seemed  to  me 
almost  godlike  ;  it  made  the  not-doing  seem  as  noble 
as  the  doing.  It  was  the  old  story, — the  little  dog 
baying  at  the  moon,  and  the  moon  shining  on  un 
moved  by  all  the  clamor." 

"  But  the  moon  was  moved  in  this  case,  and  very 
perceptibly,"  I  answered.  "  So  the  similitude  ceases 
at  once.  I  cannot  throw  any  light  upon  the  matter, 
Elsie.  It  is  as  great  a  mystery  to  me  as  to  you.  But 
this  much  I  do  believe.  Kenneth  Armstrong  is 
obeying  the  voice  of  some  real  or  fancied  duty. 
Men  have  died  ere  this  for  an  idea, — a  mere  fiction  of 
the  brain  ;  and  he  has  in  him  the  stuff  of  which 
martyrs  are  made.  He  would  go  to  the  gibbet  or  to 
the  stake  for  a  principle." 

"  He  and  Clyde  are  so  unlike,"  she  said.  "  One  is 
the  steel,  the  other  the  flint.  I  have  sometimes  won 
dered  what  the  effect  would  be  if  the  two  natures 
should  ever  come  in  sharp  collision." 

"  There  would  be  an  explosion,  probably.  But  it 
will  never  happen,  I  think;  for  their  devotion  to  each 
other  is  as  unusual  as  it  is  beautiful." 

Elsie  lay  silent  for  a  few  moments.  Then  she 
said,  with  a  little  toss  of  her  head  in  the  direction  of 
Greyholt, — 


H2  EXPIATION. 

"  Which  is  master  over  there, — Kenneth  or  Clyde  ? 
Every  house  must  have  a  head." 

"  Kenneth,  nominally,  as  the  elder, — while  Clyde 
has  his  own  way  in  most  minor  matters.  Neverthe 
less,  I  think  Kenneth  would  rule  in  an  emergency. 
But  look  here,  my  child.  Your  watch  points  to  the 
'  wee  sma'  hours  ayont  the  twal.'  It  is  time  you 
were  asleep." 


CHAPTER    XL 

YES,  I  know  it.  Some  things,  O  my  reader,  you 
must  take  for  granted.  Some  things  you  must 
believe,  not  because  I  prove  them,  but  because  I  say 
that  they  are  so. 

Yet  there  is  truth,  and  a  certain  force,  in  the  charge 
that  you  bring  against  me.  You  say  that  while  I 
tell  you  that  Clyde  was  passionate,  wayward,  self- 
willed,  obstinate,  and  often  moody,  you  have  read  ten 
mortal  chapters  of  this  book,  and  have  seen  no  evi 
dence  of  it.  There  has  been  a  little  display  of  play 
ful  petulance.  That  is  all.  You  say  that  I  should 
show  him  to  you  as  he  was. 

Ah,  dear  friends,  I  loved  the  boy,  and  I  want  you 
to  love  him  too.  If  God  had  laid  a  child  upon  my 
breast  whose  poor  little  body  was  in  some  way 
deformed  and  distorted,  do  you  think  I  would  strip 
off  the  veiling  garments  and  show  you  all  the  un- 
sightliness  ?  No.  I  would  cover  the  limbs  with  full 
and  softly-flowing  robes,  and  no  eyes  save  those  that 


EXPIA  TION.  1 1 3 

are  most  tender,  most  pitiful,  should  ever  gaze  upon 
them.  And  if  the  face  was  fair  and  sweet,  if  the 
eyes  were  like  the  blue  heavens,  or  dark  with  the 
glory  of  midnight  skies;  if  the  hair  were  paly  gold 
or  a  lustrous  jet,  I  would  show  you  these,  and  say, 
"  Behold,  God  is  good.  My  child  has  its  own 
beauty." 

So  I  shall  hide  from  you  my  poor  Clyde's  deformi 
ties  as  far  as  I  may.  The  true  artist  strives  to  place 
his  subject  in  the  best  light ;  and,  moreover,  he  strives 
to  paint  the  possibilities  of  the  man.  He  tries  to 
look  beneath  the  crust  of  worldliness,  of  selfishness, 
to  sweep  away  the  littleness,  the  falsities,  and  to  place 
him  upon  the  canvas  at  his  best.  He  would  paint  the 
man  at  his  highest,  not  at  his  lowest.  Even  so  shall 
I  give  Clyde  the  advantage  of  the  best  possible  light. 
I  shall  so  arrange  the  lights  and  shadows  as  to  conceal 
defects  and  heighten  beauties  as  far  as  I  am  able. 
None  of  us  are  wholly  good  or  wholly  bad.  He  was 
very  far  from  being  either. 

But  if  he  had  been  bad, — which  he  probably  was 
not,  in  your  sense  of  the  word, — shall  we  carefully 
conceal  all  bodily  defects,  lest  they  should  offend 
delicate  sensibilities,  and  lay  soul-deformities  bare 
to  the  scrutiny  of  every  curious  eye  ?  Forbid  it, 
Heaven  ! 

But  to  my  story  again. 

For  a  week  after  our  little  supper  under  the  hem 
lock-boughs,  we  saw  very  little  of  Kenneth.  Clyde 
said  that  he  was  "  busy," — looking  over  some  busi 
ness  papers  of  his  father's, — and  so  on.  But  we  knew, 
Elsie  and  I,  that  this  was  not  what  kept  him  away 

10* 


EXPIATION. 

from  us.  We  knew  that  there  was  a  sore  spot  in  his 
heart  that  was  slow  to  heal.  It  could  not  yet  bear 
an  idle  touch.  Elsie  had  wounded  him  sorely. 

"  And  what  right  had  I  to  do  it  ?"  she  asked,  one 
day,  in  a  spasm  of  self-reproach.  "  Is  my  shield  so 
spotless  that  I  should  presume  to  call  him  to  account 
for  the  one  blot  upon  his  ?  Why  did  he  not  turn 
about  to  me  and  say,  *  Physician,  heal  thyself?  But, 
oh,  Aunt  Margaret,  Aunt  Margaret !  the  worst  of  it 
is  that  every  word  is  true, — or  seems  so.  There  is 
nothing  I  can  take  back  or  unsay.  '  True  from  my 
stand-point,'  he  said.  How  is  it  from  his,  I  wonder?" 

But  when  he  did  come  to  us,  his  manner  was 
equally  free  from  self-assertion  and  from  self-depre 
ciation.  There  was  no  trace  of  sensitive  pride  or 
of  false  humility  in  his  bearing.  It  simply  said,  with 
a  kind  of  sublime  patience,  "  I  wait." 

I  left  the  two  alone  for  awhile  that  morning, — for 
a  reason  of  my  own.  After  Kenneth  had  gone,  I 
asked, — 

"  Is  all  right  ?  Did  you  allude  to  the  troublesome 
matter  ?" 

"  No,  Aunt  Margaret,"  she  answered,  "  and  I  never 
shall." 

I  did  not  reply  to  this,  and  presently  she  went  on : 

"  Aunt  Margaret !" 

"Well,  dear?" 

Her  lip  quivered,  and  the  color  deepened  in  her 
cheeks. 

"  I  cannot  understand  Kenneth  Armstrong.  But 
— I  say  it  not  irreverently — it  seemed  to  me  to-day 
that  if  he  had  said  anything  it  would  have  been  what 


EXPIA  TION.  1 1 5 

One  said  long  ago, — '  What  I  do  thou  knowest  not 
now,  but  thou  shalt  know  hereafter.'  " 

Dr.  Bellinger,  as  I  have  said  before,  was  a  prac 
tical  philanthropist.  Not  content  with  giving  of  his 
abundant  means,  with  heading  subscription-lists,  and 
faithfully  discharging  onerous  duties  as  president  of 
one  benevolent  association  and  member  of  the  board 
of  directors  of  several  others,  he  gave  to  the  poor 
and  the  suffering  what  was  often  more  precious 
than  gold,  personal  sympathy  and  kindliness.  From 
her  earliest  childhood  Elsie  had  been  in  the  habit  of 
visiting  with  him  the  bedsides  of  the  sick  and  the 
dying,  and  of  ministering  to  their  needs  with  her  small, 
childish  hands.  She  had  been  taught  to  shrink  from 
no  service,  however  menial,  if  so  she  might  help  or 
comfort  those  of  whom  Christ  had  said,  "  Inasmuch 
as  ye  have  done  it  unto  the  least  of  these  my  breth 
ren,  ye  have  done  it  unto  me." 

She  did  not  leave  this  habit  of  her  life  behind  her 
when  she  came  to  Altona.  There  was  very  little  of 
extreme  poverty  there ;  but  suffering  and  sickness 
and  death  came  to  our  mountain  fastnesses  even  as 
to  the  crowded  tenements  of  New  York  ;  and  there 
was  enough  of  penury  and  privation,  also,  to  make 
good  those  other  words  of  the  Master,  "  The  poor 
ye  have  always  with  you."  Many  a  one  might  have 
dwelt  among  us  for  one  summer,  or  for  two,  or  three, 
and  never  discovered  that  there  was  a  soul  in  the 
town  who  needed  help.  We  had  no  beggars,  and 
poverty  with  us  kept  in  the  background,  hiding  its 
head  as  if  ashamed.  But  Elsie's  sympathies  were 
strong  and  far-reaching ;  and  young  as  she  was,  she 


U6  EXPIATION. 

had  learned  that  all  hunger  is  not  of  the  body ;  that 
charity  is  not  simply  money-giving.  Many  an  over 
worked  farmer's  wife  whose  soul  yet  hungered  and 
thirsted  for  the  beauty  it  had  no  leisure  to  gather 
about  it,  found  her  home  brightened  by  some  little 
touch  of  graceful  adornment ;  many  a  boy  whose 
growing  intellect  was  crying  out  for  food,  found  the 
books  he  longed  for  placed  mysteriously  within  his 
reach ;  many  a  young  girl  whose  heart  was  just 
awakening  to  a  sense  of  its  needs,  and  who  was  strug 
gling  against  the  influence  of  uncongenial  associa 
tions,  and  the  coarseness — perhaps  the  wickedness — 
of  those  about  her,  found  help  and  sympathy  and 
sisterly  counsel  where  she  least  expected  them.  To 
many  a  humble  home  that  summer,  Elsie's  marvelous 
voice  brought  the  very  soul  of  music.  It  was  Men 
delssohn  and  Mozart  and  Beethoven  and  Schubert  all 
in  one.  On  many  a  whitewashed  wall  her  pictures 
and  sketches  were  all  that  Rome  and  Venice,  Dresden 
and  Milan,  would  be  to  you.  It  was  a  part  of  her 
creed  that  her  gifts  were  to  be  used  for  others,  and 
so  hallowed  by  the  using. 

The  next  morning  we  were  quietly  busy  at  Cozy- 
toft:  Elsie  putting  the  last  stitches  in  a  little  pink  frock 
she  was  making  for  the  birthday  of  one  of  her  protegees, 
and  I  sorting  out  and  setting  in  order  the  contents 
of  my  writing-desk.  Presently  a  shadow  darkened 
the  window,  and  Dennis  came  up  on  to  the  piazza, 
touching  his  hat  as  usual. 

"  Miss  Rossiter,"  he  said,  with  one  or  two  extra 
flourishes,  "  I  have  the  honor  to  inform  you  that 
Mrs.  Blunt  has  three  twins." 


EXPIA  TION. 


117 


"  Three  twins !"  I  exclaimed.  "What  do  you  mean, 
Dennis?" 

"  Or  rayther,  perhaps  it  behooves  me  to  say, 
two  twins  and  an  odd  one,"  he  went  on,  scratching 
his  head  and  looking  bewildered.  "  By  the  powers, 
it  bothers  the  soul  of  me  to  know  whether  they  be 
twins  or  not.  But  anyhow  there's  three  of  'em." 

"Three  what?"  I  asked.  "You  don't  mean  three 
children  ?" 

"  But  indade  and  I  do,  savin'  your  honor's  pres 
ence.  Three  byes." 

"  Dennis,  I  don't  believe  it.  You  are  spinning  one 
of  your  yarns." 

"  Indade,  then,  by  my  soul,  I  am  not.  I  would  not 
dare  to  be  foolin'  wid  an  honorable  lady  like  your 
self.  Sure  an'  'twas  the  docther  that  was  tellin'  me 
the  good  news  as  I  was  comin'  up  from  the  village 
wid  this  bit  of  a  bundle.  And  he  said,  moreover,  that 
there  were  more  of  'em  than  there  was  any  raison  to 
expect,  yer  honor,  and  that  there«wasn't  like  to  be 
clothin'  enough  for  the  three  of  'em." 

"Well,"  I  said,  "  I'll  see  about  it.  Run  along  now 
and  tell  Patsy.  Mrs.  Blunt  is  a  second  cousin  of 
hers,  I  believe." 

"  By  the  powers,  and  is  she,  thin  ?  It's  meself 
that'll  be  tellin'  her  the  good  news  in  a  jiffy."  And 
off  he  went. 

"  I  wonder  if  she  will  name  the  trio  Shadrach, 
Meshach,  and  Abednego,"  said  Elsie,  laughing,  as 
she  folded  up  the  little  pink  dress.  "  It  is  fortunate 
that  this  is  finished,  for  I  foresee  that  there  is  some 
sewing  for  us  to  do  at  once." 


n8  EXPIATION. 

"Yes,"  I  answered,  "Mrs.  Blunt  is  a  frail  little 
body,  hardly  able  to  take  care  of  one  child.  We 
must  go  to  sewing  for  them  forthwith.  There  is 
plenty  of  flannel  and  muslin  in  the  house ;  that's  one 
comfort." 

We  went  to  work  upon  the  little  soft  garments 
immediately,  and  by  four  o'clock  one  suit  was  com 
pleted.  Just  then  Clyde  came  in. 

"Working  for  Bellatrix,  Betelguese,  and  Aldeb- 
aran  ?"  he  asked,  as  he  tossed  his  cap  upon  the 
table. 

"Yes,"  I  answered;  "though  it  seems  to  me  your 
astronomy  is  somewhat  mixed.  One  suit  is  done, 
and  I  wish  you  would  undertake  to  deliver  it,  if  you 
can  possibly  get  so  near  the  heavens  to-night,  and 
tell  Mrs.  Blunt  there  are  more  coming." 

'"So  near  the  heavens'?"  repeated  Elsie.  "Why, 
where  does  Mrs.  Blunt  live?" 

"'Way  up  on  the  old  turnpike, — pretty  well  up  the 
mountain,"  Clyda  answered.  "  The  road  is  all  out 
of  repair  and  grass-grown ;  hardly  passable  for  car 
riages,  I  imagine.  But  there  is  a  magnificent  view 
up  there,  Elsie, — the  finest  sweep  of  the  hills  to  be 
found  in  this  region ;  and  I  have  been  wanting  an 
opportunity  to  show  it  to  you.  Will  you  ride  with 
me?  It  is  just  the  evening  for  a  swift  gallop,  and 
Prince  and  the  Brownie  have  not  been  out  of  the 
stable  to-day." 

Elsie  assented;  and  in  half  an  hour  they  were  off, 
Clyde  disposing  of  the  little  bundle  of  clothing  in 
some  one  of  his  deep,  mysterious  pockets. 


EXPIATION. 

That  October  was  one  long  to  be  remembered  for 
its  skies, — blue  and  bright  as  those  of  June, — its  soft, 
balmy  airs,  its  warmth,  its  fragrance,  its  beauty.  There 
were  frequent  showers,  but  they  fell  in  "  the  beaded 
drops  of  summer-time," — not  in  the  wild  sweep  of 
autumnal  rains ;  and  while  the  woods  were  clothed 
right  royally,  and  the  hills  flaunted  their  banners  of 
crimson  and  purple  and  scarlet  and  gold,  the  meadows 
were  fresh  and  green,  and  the  pastures  still  gay  with 
the  golden-rod,  and  fragrant  with  the  spicy,  aromatic 
breath  of  the  little  white  downy-stemmed  everlast 
ing, — the  immortelle  of  our  New  England  woods. 
The  day  had  been  even  sultry ;  and  as  sunset  ap 
proached,  the  strange,  unnatural  heat  grew  more  and 
more  oppressive.  A  lurid,  ghastly  light  lay  upon 
the  hills,  and  the  grass  and  the  trees  looked  wan  and 
spectral,  as  during  the  approach  of  an  eclipse.  Still, 
not  a  cloud  was  visible. 

I  was  up-stairs  in  my  chamber,  when  I  heard  the 
loud  slamming  of  a  door.  In  another  instant  a  pair 
of  blinds  on  the  other  side  of  the  house  blew  together 
with  a  great  crash.  Quickly  and  silently  I  went 
through  the  bedrooms,  fastening  blinds  and  closing 
windows;  then  went  down  to  the  parlor  with  a 
strange  dread  at  my  heart.  Just  as  I  did  so,  Ken 
neth  rushed  into  the  house  without  any  ceremony. 

"Which  way  have  they  gone?"  he  cried, — "Miss 
Meredith  and  Clyde,  I  mean.  Dennis  says  they  are 
riding." 

"  Did  you  not  know"it  ?"  I  asked.  "  They  have 
been  gone  an  hour, — up  the  old  turnpike  road, — to 
Mrs.  Blunt's." 


120  EXPIATION. 

"  I  did  not  know  they  were  out,"  he  said.  "  I  was 
writing  in  the  library,  and  supposed  Clyde  was  here. 
Hark  !  do  you  hear  that  ?" 

There  had  been  a  preternatural  stillness  in  the  air 
ever  since  the  one  sudden  gust  that  had  startled  me 
up-stairs.  But  now,  as  I  listened,  I  heard  a  low, 
faint  rumbling  as  of  distant  thunder,  and  the  trees 
bent  and  swayed  before  the  couriers  of  the  approach 
ing  tempest. 

"  We  are  going  to  have  a  fearful  storm,"  he  went 
on.  "  If  they  would  only  stay  at  Mrs.  Blunt's  until 
it  is  over!  But,  which  way  were  they  coming 
home  ?" 

"  Round  by  the  point.  Clyde  wanted  to  show 
Elsie  the  view  from  the  rock." 

Kenneth  groaned  heavily.  "  Then  they  are  on 
the  way  before  this  time.  Which  horse  did  she 
ride  ?" 

"  The  white  one, — Prince,"  I  answered. 

For  a  moment  we  were  silent.  The  soft,  rosy 
tints  had  faded  from  the  sky,  and  dense  black  clouds 
had  gathered  overhead.  Not  a  drop  of  rain  had 
fallen,  but  now  the  rumbling  and  crashing  of  the 
thunder  was  incessant,  and  the  fierce,  forked  light 
nings  leaped  here  and  there  amid  the  blackness,  like 
fiery  serpents  darting  on  their  prey.  The  wind 
sighed  and  wailed  like  a  lost  spirit;  and  as  the  sun 
went  down,  the  very  blackness  of  midnight  seemed 
to  settle  upon  the  earth.  Another  moment,  and  both 
earth  and  heaven  were  lit  up  with  a  lurid  glare  that 
might  have  come  straight  from  the  region  of  ever 
lasting  flame,  while  our  ears  were  deafened  by  the 


EXPIATION.  121 

din  and  tumult  that  fell  from  above  and  arose  from 
around  and  beneath  us. 

"  My  God,  but  this  is  terrible !"  exclaimed  Ken 
neth,  as  he  tore  his  hand  from  my  clasp.  "  Don't 
hold  me,  Miss  Rossiter,  for  I  must  go." 

"  Not  out  into  this  storm!"  I  cried.  "You  can  do 
no  good.  They  must  be  home  presently."  And  I 
clung  to  him,  holding  him  back  by  main  force. 

But  he  shook  me  off,  and  seized  his  hat  mechan 
ically. 

"  Prince  is  afraid  in  a  thunder-storm,"  he  said, 
hoarsely.  "  That  last  clap  must  have  driven  him 
wild." 

Before  the  last  words  were  fairly  uttered,  he  was 
outside  the  gate,  and  I  saw  him,  by  the  light  of  the 
lurid  flashes,  gazing  up  the  road. 

My  very  heart  stood  still  with  dread  and  horror. 
Matty  crept  in  from  the  kitchen,  and  crouched  on  a 
cricket  at  my  feet.  And  still  the  thunder  crashed  and 
bellowed  and  muttered;  still  the  lightning  burned  with 
fearful  intensity.  Presently  I  saw  Kenneth  toss  his 
arms  wildly  in  the  air,  clasp  them  for  one  instant,  as 
if  in  supplication,  and  then  dart  forward  as  on  the 
wings  of  the  wind. 

I  rushed  to  the  east  window.  Just  then  the  sultry 
fires  lit  up  the  brow  of  the  hill,  and  for  one  moment 
I  beheld  a  vision. 

A  flying  steed,  white  as  the  driven  snow,  against  a 
background  of  ebony  clouds, — a  mass  of  tossing 
drapery, — a  gleam  of  golden  hair  streaming  out  upon 
the  night  wind,  a  white  face  fixed  in  terror  and  de 
spair,  and  two  hands  clutching  the  silvery  mane. 


I22  EXPIATION. 

Kenneth  took  it  all  in  at  a  glance.  He  thought  as 
the  drowning  think  :  a  lifetime  was  condensed  into 
one  moment's  space.  Straight  down  the  hill  flew 
the  frightened  horse.  At  the  bottom  of  it,  if  he  kept 
the  road,  there  was  a  short  turn,  sharp  and  sudden 
as  a  right  angle.  If  he  did  not  keep  it, — there  was 
a  deep  ravine  straight  ahead,  with  cruel  stones  at  the 
bottom.  Elsie  Meredith  was  riding  right  into  the 
jaws  of  death,  either  way. 

Kenneth  told  me,  afterward,  that  for  one  instant 
rhe  stood  transfixed  by  terrible  doubt  and  irresolu 
tion.  To  stop  the  horse  was  simply  impossible. 
Then  a  sudden  thought  flashed  upon  him  like  an 
inspiration.  Near  the  foot  of  the  hill,  and  close  to 
the  road,  was  the  smooth  stump  of  a  tree  that  had 
recently  been  cut  down.  Could  he  plant  himself 
firmly  upon  that,  with  one  arm  wound  about  a  strong 
sapling,  an  offshoot  from  the  parent  tree  that  had 
sprung  up  at  its  very  root,  with  the  other  he  might 
be  able  to  snatch  her  from  the  horse  as  he  swept 
past.  It  was  a  forlorn  hope, — but  the  only  one.  In 
less  time  than  you  have  been  reading  this  paragraph, 
he  had  darted  across  the  road  and  taken  his  position. 

Ah !  what  a  wordless  prayer  for  help  parted  his 
white,  set  lips  for  an  instant,  as  Elsie  drew  near,  cling 
ing  to  the  mane  with  both  hands,  her  slender  form 
swaying  in  the  rapid  motion,  as  a  rush  sways  in  the 
wind  !  Then  he  shouted, — 

"  Elsie !  Elsie  !  to  the  right !  to  the  right !  I  can 
save  you !" 

The  clear  accents  pierced  the  nearly  deadened  ears ; 
and,  looking  up,  the  white-faced  rider  saw  Kenneth 


EXPIATION. 


123 


almost  within  reach.  Instinct  rather  than  reason 
taught  her  to  give  a  sudden  pull  upon  the  mane. 
The  horse  swerved  to  the  right.  Kenneth's  extended 
arm  clasped  Elsie's  waist  and  drew  her  from  the  sad 
dle,  white,  trembling,  incapable  of  speech  or  motion. 
For  an  instant  he  held  her  clasped  closely  to  his 
heart,  while  the  steed  rushed  onward,  the  very  incar 
nation  of  the  storm.  A  moment  more,  and  above 
the  wild  roar  of  the  elements  rose  the  long,  loud, 
piercing  cry  of  an  animal  in  mortal  terror.  Then 
came  the  crashing  of  branches,  the  clattering  ot 
stones,  a  swift  rush,  a  heavy,  sickening  thud,  and 
Kenneth  and  Elsie  knew  that  Prince  lay  at  the 
bottom  of  the  ravine,  torn,  mangled,  dead. 

It  was  too  much.  Elsie  fainted.  She  had  looked 
a  horrible  death  full  in  the  face  and  kept  her  reason ; 
but  now  that  it  had  turned  aside,  and  life  smiled 
upon  her  once  more,  nature  yielded. 

All  this  happened  within  fifty  rods  of  my  house; 
and  I  watched  it  from  my  window, —  watched  it  as 
well  as  I  could  in  alternate  light  and  darkness.  I  saw 
Kenneth  bend  for  one  moment  over  the  inanimate 
form  that  lay  within  his  arms,  with  a  wild  yearning 
to  kiss  the  pure,  pale  lips,  the  drooping  eyelids,  the 
white,  still  forehead.  But  he  did  not.  Reverently 
he  put  back  the  soft  hair  that  had  fallen  over  her 
face,  laid  her  head  tenderly  upon  his  shoulder,  and 
bore  her  swiftly  homeward. 

I  met  them  at  the  door.  His  face  was  like  marble, 
and  he  reeled  as  I  extended  my  arms  to  receive  his 
precious  burden. 

"  Do  not  be  frightened,  aunty,"  he  said,  as,  refusing 


124 


EXPIATION. 


to  give  her  up,  he  carried  her  into  the  parlor  and  laid 
her  on  the  sofa.  "  She  is  not  hurt,  I  think,  except 
ing  as  the  fright  and  fatigue  have  hurt  her.  I " 

"  I  saw  it  all,"  I  hastened  to  say.  "  I  saw  it  all. 
But  where  is  Clyde  ?" 

"  Clyde  ?  Oh,  merciful  Father  !  I  never  once 
thought  of  Clyde,"  he  cried.  "  It  was  for  him  I 
feared  in  the  first  place,  for — it  is  constitutional,  I 
suppose — a  thunder-storm  has  affected  him  strangely 
ever  since  he  was  a  child.  I  knew  he  would  be  fit 
neither  to  guide  his  own  horse  nor  to  take  care  of 
Elsie.  I  grew  wild  as  I  thought  of  it  all.  But 
when  I  saw  that  horse  come  tearing  down  the  hill^ 
and  knew  there  was  but  a  hand's-breadth  between 
her  and  death,  I  forgot  everything  else.  I  have  not 
thought  of  Clyde  since.  I  forgot " 

He  ceased  suddenly, — and  was  gone  before  I  could 
reply. 

In  five  minutes  he  was  back  again,  with  a  lantern 
in  his  hand. 

"  I  have  Dennis,"  he  said,  "  and  am  going  in  pur 
suit  of  Clyde.  Is  she  better  ?  Has  she  revived  ?" 

"  Partially.     She  will  be  all  right  presently." 

He  caught  my  hand  in  a  quick,  convulsive  grasp, 
and  was  gone  again. 

The  thunder  was  dyir^g  away  in  low,  distant  mut- 
terings,  and  the  red  lightning  had  exhausted  itself. 
The  rain  was  falling  in  torrents. 

I  went  back  to  Elsie.  She  lay  just  where  Kenneth 
had  placed  her,  with  closed  eyes, — as  motionless  as  a 
statue.  But  the  breath  fluttered  softly  through  her 
parted  lips,  and,  as  I  looked,  two  large  tears  stole 


EXPIATION.  12$ 

from  beneath  the  lashes,  and  rolled  slowly  down 
her  cheeks. 

She  felt  the  presence  that  she  did  not  see,  and  put 
out  her  hand  in  search  of  mine.  As  I  took  it,  a 
strong  shudder  shook  her  from  head  to  foot,  and  she 
opened  her  eyes. 

"  Where  am  I  ?"  she  exclaimed,  starting  up. 
"  Who  brought  me  here  ?  Where  is  he — Kenneth  ? 
Is  Clyde  here  ?" 

I  laid  her  gently  back  upon  the  pillow  again. 
"  Kenneth  has  gone  to  find  Clyde.  They  will  both 
be  here  very  soon,  I  trust.  But  you  must  not  talk 
now,  my  child.  You  need  rest." 

"  It  was  terrible,  terrible  !"  she  murmured.  "  Aunt 
Margaret,  from  the  moment  my  horse  began  run 
ning,  I  saw  myself  lying  in  the  bottom  of  the  ravine 
yonder — dead !" 

I  kissed  her  by  way  of  answer,  placing  my  finger 
upon  her  lips  the  while.  Then,  seeing  she  had  not  yet 
recovered  strength  enough  to  go  up-stairs,  I  arranged 
her  pillows  as  comfortably  as  I  could,  brought  her  a 
cup  of  tea,  turned  down  the  lamp,  and  bade  her  go  to 
sleep.  In  a  short  time  she  did  my  bidding,  falling  into 
the  deep,  heavy  slumber  of  exhaustion. 

She  had  hardly  done  so  when  Matty  opened  the 
door,  and  beckoned  me  with  a  wild,  scared  face. 

"  Oh,  Miss  Rossiter !"  she  whispered,  "  Mister 
Clyde's  horse  has  just  gone  home;  but  there  wasn't 
a  soul  on  to  him,  and  the  reins  were  a-dangling." 

I  went  to  the  door  and  listened.  The  fury  of  the 
storm  was  spent.  The  rain  had  nearly  ceased,  and 
from  behind  ragged  rifts  of  cloud  the  full  round 

u* 


1 26  EXPIA  TION. 

moon,  remote  and  clear,  looked  down  with  chastened, 
tender  light.  I  threw  my  waterproof  cloak  about 
me,  pulled  the  hood  over  my  head,  and  went  out. 

It  seemed  to  me  that  I  heard  noises  in  the  direction 
of  the  ravine.  Was  it  the  wind,  or  the  still  pattering 
rain-drops,  or  faint,  returning  echoes  of  the  storm  ? 
Or  did  I  indeed  hear  a  voice — a  human  voice — 
something  between  a  cry  and  a  moan — coming  up 
from  the  dark  abyss  ? 

I  could  not  tell.  But  I  resolved  to  know ;  even  while 
a  superstitious  horror  seized  me  as  I  thought  of  Prince 
lying  a  mangled  heap  at  the  bottom,  and  wondered 
if  the  ghosts  of  departed  steeds  did  ever  walk  the 
earth  "  in  the  dead  waste  and  middle  of  the  night." 
I  dared  not  trust  myself  to  think  of  Clyde.  But,  if 
the  noise  I  had  heard  did  indeed  come  from  the 
ravine,  I  must  know  what  it  was. 

Just  as  I  reached  the  spot,  however,  I  saw  Kenneth 
and  Dennis  coming,  round  the  foot  of  the  hill,  and 
advanced  to  meet  them.  As  I  did  so,  that  same 
uncertain  sound  reached  my  ears  again. 

"  You  here,  Miss  Rossiter  ?"  said  Kenneth,  as  the 
rays  from  the  lantern  flashed  full  upon  my  face  and 
form.  "  How  about  Clyde  ?  Has  he  got  home  ?" 

"  No.  But  the  horse  has  come.  Kenneth,"  I 
whispered,  drawing  closer  to  his  side,  '  there  is  some 
thing  stirring  in  the  ravine.  There !  do  you  hear 
that  ?  Can  Prince  be  alive,  after  all  ?" 

He  shook  his  head.  "  Nothing  could  be  alive 
after  such  a  fall  as  he  had." 

The  moon  was  still  shining,  but  its  beams  did  not 
penetrate  the  darkness  of  the  chasm.  Kenneth 


EXPIATION. 


127 


leaned  far  over  the  edge,  and  swung  the  lantern  so  that 
the  light  would  fall  below.  We  caught  one  glimpse 
of  Prince — a  heap  of  white  upon  the  blackened  stones  ; 
and  I  knew  well  what  was  the  thought  that  sent  so 
strong  a  shudder  through  my  companion's  stalwart 
frame.  But  in  a  moment  he  swung  the  lantern 
again. 

"  See,  aunty,  see !"  he  whispered.  "  There  is 
something  crouching  there  beside  it.  Do  you  not 
see  it  ?  There  !  there  !" 

"  Kenneth,  Kenneth,  it  is  a  human  being, — it  is 
Clyde  !"  I  cried,  softly.  "  Nay,  nay,  but  he  is  alive," 
I  added,  quickly,  as  the  lantern  dropped  from  his 
nerveless  hand.  "  He  moved, — he  spoke.  He  is  not 
dead,  Kenneth  !  Speak  to  him." 

Kenneth  bent  over  the  abyss,  and  called,  "  Clyde ! 
Clyde !" 

But  the  figure,  which  we  now  distinctly  saw  sitting 
with  its  forehead  bowed  upon  its  knees  and  its  arms 
clasped  about  them,  gave  no  sign  in  recognition  or 
response.  Soon,  however,  it  moved  visibly. 

"  It  is  Clyde,  I  think,  and  apparently  unhurt,"  said 
Kenneth,  after  a  moment.  "  But,  aunty,  how  did  he 
ever  get  there  ?  Clyde !  Clyde !  Speak  to  me, 
Clyde  !" 

The  figure  raised  its  head.  It  was  Clyde.  Just 
then  the  moon  from  directly  overhead  poured  its 
light  into  the  narrow  ravine,  flooding  the  spot  where 
he  sat  with  silver  radiance.  I  saw  the  very  shimmer 
of  his  curls  as  he  looked  upward. 

He  seemed  dazed,  —  stunned,  —  but  astonished 
neither  at  his  own  position  nor  at  ours.  Pretty  soon 


128  EXPIATION. 

he  said,  putting  his  hand  to  his  head  with  a  vague 
air  of  bewilderment, — 

"  It  is  cold  here,  Kenneth, — oh,  so  cold  !"  And  he 
shivered,  clasping  his  arms  more  tightly  about  his 
knees. 

There  was  a  strange,  unnatural  tension  in  the  voice, 
that  made  it  very  unlike  Clyde's.  Before  we  could 
answer,  it  reached  us  again,  sharp,  querulous,  yet 
intense. 

"  Come  !  come  quickly !"  it  cried.  "  Elsie  is  cold, 
I  tell  you  !  Come  !" 

Years  afterward,  when  the  inner  life  of  these  two 
souls  had  been  more  fully  revealed  to  me,  I  re 
called  what,  in  the  excitement  of  the  moment,  I  had 
scarcely  noticed, — the  look  of  pain  and  dread  that 
swept  over  Kenneth's  face  as  he  heard  these  words. 

"  I  am  coming,"  he  answered,  hastily.  "  Be 
patient,  Clyde.  I  will  be  with  you  very  soon." 

The  ravine  was  hardly  more  than  thirty  feet  deep, 
but  rocky  and  precipitous. 

"  By  the  powers,  but  how  will  you  convey  yourself 
to  him,  yer  honor?  It's  a  mighty  onconvaynient 
place  of  descint,"  said  Dennis,  with  an  anxious  face,  as 
he  leaned  over  the  chasm. 

"  I  must  climb  down,"  was  the  reply.  "  He  must 
have  done  it,  and  I  caa  do  it.  Dennis,  go  for  the 
horse  and  buggy,  and  drive  round  to  the  head  of 
the  gorge.  He  can  never  climb  up  again ;  that  is 
certain." 

While  he  spoke,  he  was  divesting  himself  of  his 
coat,  and  making  ready  for  the  perilous  descent. 
Clyde  had  apparently  forgotten  our  presence,  and  was 


EXPIATION. 


129 


again   crouching  in  the  shadow.     Once  I  saw  him 
groping  about  as  if  in  search  of  something. 

"  Take  care  of  the  lantern,  aunty,"  said  Kenneth, 
as  he  swung  himself  over  the  edge,  planting  his  feet 
firmly  upon  a  narrow  jutting  rock.  "  I  would  not 
like  to  be  in  total  darkness,  if  the  moon  should  per 
versely  hide  herself."  Then  he  shouted,  cheerily, — 
"  Look  out  for  me,  Clyde.  I  am  coming  !" 
I  watched  him  breathlessly,  as  he  crept  slowly 
down  the  steep  side  of  the  abyss, — now  clinging 
seemingly  to  the  bare  face  of  the  rock,  now  poised 
upon  some  projecting  point  which  scarcely  afforded 
foothold  for  a  Humming-bird,  now  trying  the  strength 
of  some  hardy  shrub  and  swinging  himself  down 
ward  by  its  aid.  Once  I  suppressed  a  scream  as  he 
stepped  upon  a  loose  stone  and  sent  it  hurtling  into 
the  depths  below.  Once  my  heart  stopped  beating 
as  his  foot  slipped  upon  the  wet,  uneven  surface,  and 
he  saved  himself  only  by  throwing  himself  violently 
forward  and  catching  at  a  branch  that  swung  oppor 
tunely  near.  But  at  last  the  descent  was  made,  and 
Kenneth  stood  by  his  brother's  side  at  the  bottom  of 
the  ravine. 

F* 


130  EXPIATION. 


CHAPTER    XII. 

MY  own  senses  must  have  been  preternaturally 
quickened  that  night;  or  else  the  action  of  the  storm 
had  so  cleared  and  vivified  the  air  that  sound  was 
borne  farther  than  its  wont.  Certain  it  is,  that  as, 
wrapped  in  my  waterproof,  I  stretched  myself  upon 
the  damp  ground  and  peered  over  into  the  moonlit 
chasm,  almost  every  word  from  below  reached  me. 

Clyde  had  neither  looked  nor  stirred  since  Ken 
neth  left  the  upper  earth.  Now  the  latter  laid  his 
hand  upon  his  bowed  head. 

"  Here  I  am,  Clyde,"  he  said,  with  a  cheery  ring 
in  his  voice.  "But  this  is  a  rough  place  to  get  to; 
I  should  not  like  to  try  it  over  again.  Now  we  will 
make  our  way  up  to  the  head  of  the  gorge,  where 
Dennis  will  meet  us.  Come  on,  my  boy." 

But  Clyde  looked  at  him  without  moving,  for 
an  instant.  Then  he  stretched  out  his  hands  im 
ploringly,— 

"  Help  me  to  find  her !"  he  cried,  in  sharp,  piteous 
accents.  "  I  want  Elsie !  help  me  to  find  her." 

Kenneth  took  the  two  hands  in  his,  and  I  saw 
him  kiss  his  brother's  forehead  as  he  answered, 
soothingly, — 

"  Elsie  ?  Why,  she  is  not  here,  Clyde.  What  are 
you  thinking  of?  She  is  safe  at  home." 

"  Don't  lie  to  me !  I  know  better  than  that,"  was 
the  passionate  response.  "  She  is  here,  dead  or 


EXPIATION.  i^L 

dying  on  these  cursed  rocks,  and  I  cannot  find  her. 
See  here  !"  And  he  dragged  Kenneth  round  a  jutting 
crag,  and  pointed  shuddcringly  to  the  white  mangled 
heap  that  had  been  Prince  at  sunset. 

"  Yes,  I  know  it,"  said  Kenneth,  still  caressing  and 
soothing  Clyde  as  if  he  had  been  a  child.  "Yes, — 
poor  Prince  !  But  I  tell  you  the  truth,  my  brother ; 
Elsie  is  safe  at  home,  asleep  in  Miss  Rossiter's  parlor. 
Is  it  not  so,  aunty?" 

"  I  left  her  there  half  an  hour  ago,"  I  replied, 
feigning  a  calmness  that  I  did  not  feel.  "  Come 
home,  Clyde,  like  a  good  boy.  Elsie  is  all  right." 

But  Clyde  shook  his  head  incredulously,  and  his 
voice  grew  intensely  mournful  and  pathetic. 

"  I  know,"  he  said  ;  "  you  wish  to  spare  me.  You 
would  lure  me  away  from  this  dreadful  place, — this 
den  of  horrors.  You  feel  that  it  would  kill  me  to 
know  that  I  had  killed  her.  But,  Kenneth,  I  am  neither 
a  fool  nor  a  baby.  There  lies  Prince ;  and  where  is 
she?  Crushed  beneath  him  on  the  cruel  stones  !  I 
know  it,  and  you  know  it!  Standing  there,  white  and 
impassive  as  a  statue,  you  know  it !  She  is  dead, 
dead !" 

It  had  been  impossible  to  interrupt  him,  for  he 
would  not  be  interrupted.  You  might  as  well  have 
talked  to  a  stone.  Gradually  his  voice  grew  higher 
and  shriller,  until  the  last  words  were  almost  a  shriek. 
As  he  uttered  them,  he  dropped  upon  the  ground, 
and  buried  his  face  in  his  hands. 

Kenneth  knelt  beside  him  and  loosened  the 
clenched  fingers.  He  was  indeed  white  to  the  very 
lips,  but  his  voice  was  calm  and  steady. 


132 


EXPIA  TION. 


"  Look  at  me,  Clyde,"  he  said ;  and  taking  his 
brother's  face  in  his  two  strong  hands,  he  turned  it 
toward  his  own.  "  Look  at  me.  I  have  never  de 
ceived  you,  and  I  shall  not  deceive  you  now.  Elsie 
is  not  killed;  I  caught  her  from  the  saddle  myself, 
and  the  next  moment  Prince  lay  yonder,  while  she 
lay  fainting  in  my  arms.  But  she  is  not  hurt :  God's 
angels  were  with  her  in  her  perilous  flight,  and  not 
one  golden  hair  was  harmed.  Tell  me  that  you  be 
lieve  me,  Clyde  !  Speak,  for  God's  sake  !" 

But  a  dumb  spirit  had  taken  possession  of  him 
again ;  and  he  made  no  answer  by  word  or  sign  to 
Kenneth's  earnest  entreaties.  A  sudden  thought 
struck  me,  and  I  flew  back  to  the  house. 

Elsie  had  awakened  from  her  nap,  and  was  sitting 
in  a  low  chair  by  the  fire  which  our  thoughtful 
Matty  had  kindled,  pale  but  quiet.  I  had  no  heart 
for  many  words. 

"Can  you  walk,"  I  said,  "as  far  as  the  ravine?" 

"Yes,"  she  answered,  "if  it  is  necessary.  What 
is  the  matter?" 

"  Clyde  is  worrying  about  you,"  I  said.  "  He  will 
not  believe  that  you  are  safe.  We  will  give  him 
ocular  evidence,  if  you  have  strength  to  get  there." 

I  threw  a  cloak  over  her  shoulders,  and  a  veil  over 
her  head,  and  drew  her  arm  within  mine. 

"  Where  is  he  ?"  was  all  she  said. 

"  In  the  ravine, — but  Heaven  only  knows  how  he 
got  there  without  breaking  his  neck.  Even  Ken 
neth,  with  his  cool  head,  found  the  descent  difficult 
and  hazardous.  But  wait  here  a  moment,  while  I 
reconnoitre." 


EXPIA  TION. 


133 


As  I  looked  down  upon  the  two  brothers,  I  saw 
that  their  positions  were  unaltered.  Still  Clyde  sat 
in  dumb  silence,  and  still  Kenneth  was  pleading  with 
him.  It  seemed  to  me  that  a  sudden  coup  de  main 
was  the  only  thing  that  would  bring  him  to  reason. 
So  I  marshaled  my  forces. 

Placing  my  arm  about  Elsie,  I  drew  her  to  the 
brink  of  the  precipice,  where  the  full  strength  of  the 
moonlight  concentred  upon  her.  Then  I  threw  back 
the  cloak  in  which  she  was  enveloped,  and  lifted  the 
shrouding  veil,  from  beneath  which  her  long  hair  fell 
around  her  like  a  mantle. 

"  Kenneth  !  Clyde  !"  I  called,  in  a  voice  that  would 
tremble  in  spite  of  me,  "  I  have  brought  Elsie  to 
you.  Look  up,  and  see  how  the  blessed  moonbeams 
are  crowning  her." 

Both  sprang  to  their  feet.  Kenneth  turned  toward 
her  a  face  that,  for  one  instant,  was  irradiated, — wear 
ing  such  a  look  as  a  Parsee,  in  some  rapt  hour,  might 
lift  to  the  god  of  his  idolatry.  Then  the  light  faded, 
as  suddenly  as  it  came.  Clyde,  after  one  quick  up 
ward  glance,  sank  slowly  to  the  ground  again,  while 
his  two  outstretched  hands  were  clasped  as  if  in 
prayer. 

"  Speak  to  me !"  he  cried ;  "  if  you  are  not  a  spirit, 
speak !" 

Elsie  leaned  forward,  with  a  smile  upon  her  lips. 
But  just  as  she  was  about  to  open  them,  thoughts  of 
all  that  had  happened  that  night — of  life  and  death 
and  eternity, — and,  perhaps,  of  the  love  that  could 
hallow  them  all — swept  over  her,  and,  instead  of 
speaking,  she  burst  into  tears. 


134 


EXPIATION. 


Kenneth  turned  lightly  to  Clyde.  "  Spirits  do  not 
weep,"  he  said, — "  not  that  I  ever  heard.  Are  you 
satisfied  now  that  she  is  real  flesh  and  blood?  If 
so,  we  will  try  to  make  our  way  up  to  the  head  of 
the  gorge  before  the  moon  goes  down." 

He  waved  his  hand  in  adieu,  and  I  waited  to  hear 
no  more,  but  hastened  home  with  Elsie.  When  we 
came  out  of  the  darkness  into  the  warm  and  fire- 
lighted  room,  I  turned  to  look  upon  the  young  face 
that  had  grown  so  dear  to  me,  with  fresh  wonder  and 
delight.  Excitement  had  brought  back  the  color  to 
her  cheeks,  the  glow  and  sparkle  to  her  eyes.  The 
dampness  had  given  a  new  beauty  to  her  hair,  which 
fell  in  long,  loose,  golden  waves  even  to  her  knees, 
and  there  coiled  up  in  a  host  of  tiny  curls.  And  to 
all  this  glory  of  light  and  color  was  added  a  rare  and 
subtle  charm,  a  witchery  of  voice  and  tone  and  man 
ner  that  intoxicated  even  me.  There  was  a  sweet  and 
tender  consciousness  about  the  girl  that  night  which 
I  cannot  describe  to  you.  It  had  all  the  glory  of  the 
dawn,  all  the  delicacy  and  beauty  of  the  spring.  It 
was  what  the  dew  is  to  the  rose,  the  fragrance  to  the 
flower,  the  bloom  to  the  grape.  It  crowned  her  with 
the  grace  of  perfect  womanhood,  and  I  felt  that  Tar 
down  in  her  heart  of  hearts  she  kept  "the  secret  of 
a  happy  dream  she  did  not  care  to  speak."  I  won 
dered  if  in  that  moment  of  dread  and  danger  when 
he  snatched  her  from  the  very  jaws  of  death,  Ken 
neth's  soul  had  spoken  to  her  soul,  revealing  that 
which  his  lips  had  never  dared  to  utter.  I  wondered 
if,  when  her  bodily  senses  were  sealed  and  she  lay  as 
one  dead  within  his  arms,  the  electric  chord  of  sym- 


EXPIATION. 


135 


pathy  between  spirit  and  spirit  had  still  vibrated,  and 
she  had  been  inly  cognizant  of  all  his  love  and 
longing. 

But  I  wasted  no  time  in  idle  speculations  that 
night.  Fair  and  sweet  and  winning  as  she  was,  she 
must  go  to  bed  like  ordinary  mortals.  She  needed 
warmth  and  food  and  rest  and  sleep  as  imperatively 
as  the  most  commonplace  girl  that  ever  moulded 
biscuits  or  drove  the  cows  to  pasture.  So  I  hurried 
her  up-stairs,  undressed  her  as  speedily  as  possible, 
and  left  her  to  darkness  and  to  dreams. 

Then  I  crept  stealthily  down  to  the  parlor  again, 
knowing  that  it  would  be  impossible  for  me  to  sleep 
until  I  knew  that  Kenneth  was  safely  at  home  with 
his  charge. 

Hours  of  watching  and  waiting  are  long  hours, 
and  it  seemed  to  me  that  it  must  be  long  past  mid 
night,  although  the  clock  pointed  only  to  half-past 
ten,  when  I  heard  the  sound  of  wheels  and  Dennis's 
familiar  chirrup. 

I  stepped  to  the  door ;  the  moon  had  gone  down, 
and  I  held  the  lamp  high  above  my  head,  that  its 
light  might  stream  down  the  path  and  illuminate  the 
faces  for  which  I  sought.  They  stopped  just  at  the 
gate. 

Kenneth's  face  was  fixed,  set,  ashy  pale  in  that 
weird  light,  and  wore  a  look  that  startled  me. 

"  Is  all  right  ?"  I  asked,  hurriedly. 

But  his  voice  came  clear  and  steady.  "  Yes, — all 
is  right, — or  will  be  in  the  end.  Good-night,  aunty. 
You  ought  to  be  in  bed,  after  all  this  excitement." 

But  I  was  not  satisfied.     I  wanted  a  word  from 


136 


EXPIATION. 


Clyde,  and  went  down  to  the  gate.  The  lamp  did 
not  waver  in  the  still  night  air. 

He  looked  tired,  exhausted, — but  he  was  Clyde  ; 
and  it  was  Clyde's  smile,  though  faint  and  weak,  that 
lighted  his  eyes  for  an  instant  as  he  turned  toward 
me.  The  strange  tension,  the  unnatural  rigidity  of 
face  and  manner  that  had  startled  me  in  the  ravine, 
had  passed  away.  Yet  still  there  was  something 
about  both  the  brothers  that  I  could  not  read.  I  felt 
that  some  revelation  had  come  to  both  that  night, — 
that  life  to  both  of  them  had  suddenly  assumed  a 
new  aspect  and  become  endowed  with  a  new  meaning. 

"  If  Clyde  is  not  sick  after  this,  it  will  be  a  wonder," 
I  whispered  to  Kenneth.  "  If  you  need  me  in  the 
morning,  let  me  know." 

As  we  sat  at  a  late  breakfast  the  next  forenoon, 
Dennis  came  in  with  the  young  gentlemen's  compli 
ments,  and  was  Miss  Meredith  suffering  any  from  the 
combined  effects  of  the  ride  and  the  storm  ? 

Miss  Meredith  was  not  suffering  in  the  least, — she 
was  as  well  as  ever,  was  the  reply.  But  how  was  it 
with  the  young  gentlemen  themselves  ? 

Dennis  could  not  say.  He  had  not  seen  Mr.  Clyde 
that  morning,  and  thought  he  had  not  left  his  room. 
But  he  did  not  think  he  was  sick,  or  Mr.  Kenneth 
would  have  said  so.  As  for  Mr.  Kenneth  himself,  he 
was  all  right,  although  Dennis  fancied  he  looked  a 
bit  paler  than  usual, — which  was  not  strange,  he 
added,  bowing  to  Elsie  with  great  significance,  when 
one  considered  the  circumstances. 

A  little  fluttering  color  stole  into  Elsie's  cheek  at 
this,  but  she  bore  it  off  bravely. 


EXPIA  TION. 


137 


"Wait  a  moment,  if  you  please,  Dennis;  I  would 
like  to  send  a  note  to  Mr.  Kenneth."  And  rising  from 
the  table,  she  ran  up-stairs. 

Dennis  looked  after  her  in  undisguised  admiration. 

"  Indade  and  by  my  troth,  Miss  Rossiter,"  he  said, 
"  she  is  quite  angelical-like  this  morning.  The  blue 
eyes  of  her  are  like  two  stars,  and  her  cheeks  are 
like  white  roses  wid  a  blush  at  the  heart  of  'em  !" 

She  came  down  very  soon,  with  an  open  note  in 
her  hand,  which  she  laid  beside  my  plate.  It  read 
thus : 

"  Come  to  me  to-day,  if  you  can.  You  saved  my 
life  last  night,  and  I  have  not  yet  thanked  you." 

"  Send  it  by  all  means,"  I  said,  in  a  low  voice,  in 
response  to  a  half-timid  glance  of  inquiry.  She 
knew  what  was  fitting  as  well  as  I  did,  and  I  under 
stood  very  well  that  the  action  sprung  solely  from  a 
womanly  longing  for  sympathy.  "  Send  it  by  all 
means.  Not  that  it  is  necessary,  for  I  do  not  doubt 
he  will  be  in  before  night,  whether  you  send  it  or 
not." 

Dennis  departed. 

It  suddenly  occurred  to  me  that  morning,  as  I  was 
folding  away  the  clothes  from  the  wash,  while  my 
thoughts  were  busy  with  the  events  of  the  previous 
night,  that  Kenneth  had  evinced  no  surprise  at 
Clyde's  sayings  or  doings.  He  had  asked  no  ques 
tions,  and  exhibited  no  curiosity.  He  had  simply 
accepted  the  situation  exactly  as  he  found  it,  con 
forming  his  own  actions  to  it  and  demanding  no  ex 
planations.  I  had  not  noticed  it  at  the  time,  but  now 
this  feature  of  the  case  forced  itself  upon  my  atten- 

12* 


138 


EXPIATION. 


tion,  and  set  me  off  upon  a  train  of  speculation  from 
which  I  only  returned  in  season  for  dinner. 

Elsie  was  up-stairs  most  of  the  forenoon  ;  but  once, 
as  I  stood  at  my  pantry  window,  I  heard  some  one 
go  softly  out  of  the  front  door.  Soon  I  saw  the  flut 
ter  of  a  scarlet  shawl  along  by  the  fence ;  and  ere 
long  a  head  appeared,  crowned  with  something  soft 
and  white  and  fleecy,  fringed  with  nodding,  dancing 
atoms.  A  graceful,  girlish  figure  moved  lightly 
along  the  yellow  road ;  then  it  turned  to  the  right, 
and  presently  I  saw  it  standing  upon  the  edge 
of  the  ravine,  gazing  down  into  the  yawning  gulf 
below. 

It  stayed  there  for  a  few  moments,  mute  and  mo 
tionless.  Then  it  went  back  to  the  road  again,  and 
followed  it  up  the  hill  till  it  reached  the  stump  of  the 
old  elm-tree,  upon  which  Kenneth  had  stood  the 
night  before.  It  was  a  quiet,  secluded  spot,  removed 
from  human  eyes, — for  no  house  but  mine  was  within 
sight. 

Elsie — for  of  course  it  was  she — glanced  up  and 
down  the  road.  She  was  utterly  alone, — alone,  as 
she  thought,  with  God  and  her  own  soul.  For  an 
instant  she  stood  quietly,  with  folded  hands  and 
drooping  forehead;  then  knelt  by  the  huge  bole, 
throwing  her  arms  about  it,  and  pillowing  her  cheek 
upon  its  scarred  and  moss-grown  face. 

After  awhile  she  rose,  gathered  a  few  leaves  from 
the  thrifty  sapling  in  whose  fresh  young  veins  the 
life  of  its  dead  parent  was  pulsing,  carefully  lifted 
some  bits  of  moss  and  lichen  from  the  stump,  and 
came  home  with  her  treasures. 


EXPIATION. 


139 


She  stole  gently  up  to  her  room,  and  I  saw  her  no 
more  until  dinner-time. 

Years  afterward,  upon  a  blank  leaf  of  Elsie's 
prayer-book,  I  chanced  one  day  to  see  three  faded, 
yellow  leaves,  and  some  sprays  of  feathery  moss. 
Beneath  them  was  a  date, — October  loth,  1857. 

Still  farther  down  the  page  were  these  words, — 

"  Out  of  the  jaws  of  Death 
Hath  he  delivered  me." 


CHAPTER   XIII. 

AFTER  dinner  Elsie  went  into  the  parlor,  and  as  I 
heard  her  moving  lightly  about  the  room  I  knew 
that  order  and  beauty  were  following  her  steps. 
Nature  had  bestowed  upon  her  what  is  always  one  of 
her  choicest  gifts  to  woman, — the  power  of  evoking 
beauty  from  common  things.  Let  her  enter  a  bare, 
plain,  commonplace  room,  and  by  a  few  graceful 
touches,  a  picturesque  arrangement  of  the  simple 
furniture,  an  artistic  disposal  of  unconsidered  trifles 
that  had  been  hidden  away  in  the  background,  by  a 
flower  fitly  placed,  or  a  cluster  of  brightly-tinted 
leaves,  she  would  change  the  whole  aspect  of  things, 
and  give  a  sort  of  poetic  beauty  to  what  was  perhaps 
in  itself  not  beautiful.  And  this  seemingly  without 
thought  or  effort.  It  was  in  her  small  world  as  it 
was  in  His  great  one,  when  God  said,  "  Let  there 
be  light," — and  there  ivas  light. 


140 


EXPIATION. 


So  when  I  heard  her  in  the  parlor,  which  Matty 
had  swept  and  dusted  that  morning,  I  knew  that  she 
was  making  it  beautiful  in  anticipation  of  Kenneth's 
coming.  I  knew  that  when  I  went  in  I  should  find  it 
sweet  with  mignonnette  and  heliotropes  and  tuberoses, 
and  gay  with  scarlet  verbenas,  purple  asters,  and 
golden  chrysanthemums.  I  knew  that  the  great 
punch-bowl,  which,  as  Clyde  had  said,  did  not  come 
over  in  the  Mayflower,  would  be  overflowing  with  its 
wealth  of  verdure, — graceful,  feathery  ferns,  and  deli 
cate  maiden's-hair, — or  bright  with  the  coral  drops 
and  shining  emerald  leaves  of  the  checkerberry-vine  ; 
that  my  beautiful  Madonna  would  smile  down  upon 
me  from  a  glow  of  crimson  woodbine,  and  that  trail 
ing  wreaths  of  the  same  would  hang  from  window 
and  doorway. 

Now,  if  I  had  undertaken  this,  its  accomplishment 
would  have  required  half  a  day,  at  the  very  least 
But  there  was  some  subtle  sympathy  between  Elsie's 
fingers  and  the  flower-stems.  She  gave  them  a  touch 
here,  a  twist  there,  she  turned  this  spray  to  the  light 
and  broke  off  a  few  obtrusive  leaves  from  that, — and 
lo  !  they  were  arranged.  She  perched  herself  upon 
a  high  chair,  and  tossed  the  woodbine  over  the  cor 
nices,  and, — presto  !  it  fell  at  once  into  the  right  po 
sition,  as  with  willing  obedience.  /  should  have 
needed  tacks  and  a  hammer,  and  a  step-ladder.  All 
she  required  was  the  long,  trailing  vine,  and  one  toss 
of  her  pretty  arms.  Inanimate  things  lost  all  their 
natural  depravity,  which  is  such  a  hindrance  to  most 
of  us,  when  she  dealt  with  them. 

Then  she  went  up-stairs. 


EXPIA  TION. 


141 


Going  up  myself  half  an  hour  afterward,  and  find 
ing  the  door  of  her  chamber  ajar,  I  peeped  in,  as  was 
my  wont. 

She  had  on  a  loose  dressing-sack,  and  had  just 
been  brushing  and  arranging  her  hair.  That,  like  the 
vines  and  flowers,  was  obedient  to  her  will,  obeying 
her  behests  with  all  submission.  It  was  always 
dressed  according  to  the  mood  of  the  moment,  simply 
or  elaborately,  as  the  case  might  be,  and  seldom 
twice  alike.  To-day  it  was  arranged  as  I  had  never 
seen  it  before  :  I  cannot  tell  you  how,  for  I  am  not 
skilled  in  the  art.  I  only  know  that  golden  braids 
lay  like  a  coronet  above  her  white  forehead,  while  a 
shower  of  curls  fell  upon  one  shoulder. 

My  first  thought  found  utterance  in  impulsive 
speech  as  she  turned  toward  me: 

"  My  child,  I  wonder  if  you  know  how  beautiful 
you  are  !" 

She  laughed  a  little  low  happy  laugh,  while  her 
sweet  face  flushed,  and  something  marvelously  like  a 
tear  softened  the  lustre  of  her  eyes. 

"Am  I,  Aunt  Margaret?     I  am  glad  of  it." 

Then,  as  if  conscious  that  her  reply  was  a  subter 
fuge,  she  added,  under  her  breath,  "  Yes,  I  do  know 
it,  and  I  thank  God  for  it." 

I  was  not  expecting  just  this  answer.  I  had 
never  in  all  my  life  before  seen  a  girl  who  would 
plainly  acknowledge  that  she  knew  herself  to  be 
beautiful.  Most  girls,  in  reply  to  such  a  remark  as 
mine,  would  have  blushed  and  simpered  and  made 
faint  denials  of  the  soft  impeachment,  pretending  to 
wonder  at  my  absurdity.  But  Elsie  said,  frankly, 


142 


EXPIA  TION. 


"  Yes,  I  know  it."      I  stopped  to  think  about  it  a 
little. 

She  answered  the  unuttered  thought,  coming  up  to 
me,  and  throwing  her  arms  about  my  neck  :  "  Aunt 
Margaret,  perhaps  it  is  not  quite  the  thing  for  me  to 
say  this.  Girls  are  expected  to  be  as  blind  as  bats  to 
the  pictures  their  mirrors  show  them.  But  I  do  thank 
God  that  He  made  me  fair,  just  as  I  thank  Him  that 
He  gave  me  health  and  reason  and  any  other  good 
gift.  For  it  is  a  good  gift,  and  one  for  which  a 
woman  may  well  be  thankful,  let  the  croakers  say 
what  they  may." 

"  You  are  right,"  I  said,  "  and  gifts  that  we  can 
thank  God  for  will  not  hurt  us.  I  see  no  reason  why 
you  should  not  thank  Him  for  your  beauty  as  well  as 

for  your  voice.     Some  time  you  will  be  glad " 

But  there  I  stopped.  She  looked  at  me  inquiringly. 
"I  will  not  finish  that  sentence  now,"  I  said.    "One 
of  these  days,  maybe,  I  will  give  you  the  'conclusion 
of  the  whole  matter.'  " 

She  turned  quickly  away,  and  the  swift,  hot  color 
flooded  neck  and  brow.  So  keen  were  her  intuitions, 
so  clear  her  perceptions,  that  she  was  apt  to  catch  the 
merest  hinting  of  one's  thought.  She  had  done  so 
now.  She  did  not  need  that  I  should  finish  the  sen 
tence.  She  knew  I  was  about  to  say  that  some  time 
she  would  count  over  every  gift,  as  the  miser  counts 
his  gold, — rejoicing  in  the  amber  glory  of  her  hair, 
in  the  blue  splendor  of  her  eyes,  in  the  snow  and  car 
mine  of  brow  and  cheek  and  lip,  in  all  the  grace  and 
sweetness  of  her  womanhood,  as  well  as  in  her  mar 
velous  voice  and  her  wealth  of  mind  and  heart,  if  So  be 


EXPIATION. 


143 


that  she  might  lay  them  all  at  the  feet  of  the  man  she 
loved.  For  his  sake  she  would  glory  in  them,  as 
she  had  never  gloried  for  her  own. 

Something  of  all  this — a  faint  foreshadowing — 
looked  out  of  her  eyes  that  day,  and  gave  a  tenderer 
beauty  to  her  face.  It  was  for  Kenneth's  sake  that 
the  long  tresses  had  been  braided  and  the  flowing 
ringlets  curled.  It  was  for  his  sake  that  the  blue 
dress  was  at  last  chosen, — for  was  not  blue  his  favor 
ite  color  ?  and  the  pearl  ornaments  put  on, — for  had 
he  not  said  they  were  becoming  ?  and  the  little  clus 
ter  of  geranium-leaves  and  tuberoses  made  to  nestle 
in  the  shining  hair, — for  had  he  not  once  spoken  of 
their  delicate  perfume  ? 

It  was  a  pretty  sight  at  any  time  to  watch  her  at 
her  toilet,  and  to  see  how  speedily  laces  and  ribbons 
settled  themselves  into  graceful  shapes  at  the  touch 
of  her  deft  fingers.  But  that  day,  lying  back  in  the 
dimity-covered  easy-chair,  I  smiled  to  myself  as  I 
noticed*  her  innocent,  unconscious  self- re  veal  ings. 
Kenneth's  lightest  fancy  was  remembered  and  de 
ferred  to.  Suddenly  she  looked  round  at  me,  clasping 
a  curiously-wrought  bracelet  upon  her  arm. 

"  What  are  you  staying  here  for,  my  lazy  Aunt 
Margaret?"  she  asked.  "You  must  go  straight  to 
your  own  room,  and  dress  yourself.  We  'receive' 
this  evening,  you  must  remember,  Miss  Rossiter !  so 
run  right  away  and  put  on  your  black  silk,  with  the 
old  thread  laces  that  I  like  so  well." 

Dear  me  !  My  black  silk  was  set  apart  for  special 
occasions.  I  never  thought  of  putting  it  on  of  an 
afternoon  at  home.  Besides,  it  struck  me  quite  for- 


144 


EXPIATION. 


cibly  that  Miss  Meredith  would  be  able  to  entertain 
her  guest,  or  guests,  that  day,  without  any  of  my 
help.  However,  to  please  her  I  arrayed  myself  with 
unwonted  magnificence  and  went  down  to  the  parlor, 
where  she  was  already  busy  at  her  little  work-table 
making  a  second  suit  of  clothes  for  "  Mrs.  Blunt's 
three  twins." 

It  was  easy  to  see  that  her  thoughts  were  not  upon 
her  work.  But  she  never  dawdled.  She  either  did 
what  she  had  to  do  quickly  and  well,  or  she  let  it 
religiously  alone.  So,  when  at  last  her  fingers  refused 
to  do  her  bidding  as  expeditiously  as  usual,  she 
threw  the  little  garment  into  her  work-basket,  and 
drew  from  its  depths  a  volume  of  Mrs.  Browning. 

Matty  called  us  to  tea  in  due  season ;  and 
after  we  had  tried  to  please  her  By  doing  justice  to 
her  toast  and  muffins,  we  returned  to  the  parlor 
again.  There  was  a  little  shadow  upon  Elsie's  face, 
and  she  put  on  her  thimble  with  a  sort  of  desperation. 

"  I  must  finish  this  little  slip  to-night,"  she  said, 
"no  matter  what  comes.  I  am  growing  lazy." 

I  amended  the  sentence,  mentally,  by  substituting 
"who"  for  "what," — thinking,  with  a  half  smile,  that 
I  would  not  care  to  be  held  responsible  for  the  com 
pletion  of  her  task. 

But  the  evening  waned  away,  and  he  did  not  come. 
Neither  did  Clyde.  Greyholt  might  have  been  at  the 
antipodes,  for  all  we  heard  of  it  or  of  its  inmates  that 
night. 

The  next  day  it  rained,  and  the  next,  and  the  next. 
Generally  rain  was  sure  to  bring  Clyde,  if  not  Ken 
neth,  to  Cozytoft;  a  fact  which  was  apt  to  remind 


EXPIATION.  I45 

me  of  a  formula  common  to  children  in  the  begin 
ning  of  a  letter, — "As  I  had  nothing  else  to  do,  I 
thought  I  would  write  to  you."  When  the  two 
young  men  had  nothing  else  to  do,  they  were  very 
prone  to  find  their  way  to  my  parlor.  But  now  four 
days  had  passed,  and  we  had  not  had  so  much  as  a 
glimpse  of  them ;  neither  had  Patsy  been  over  upon 
any  of  her  multifarious  errands. 

On  the  morning  of  the  fifth  day  I  put  on  my  india- 
rubbers  and  donned  my  waterproof. 

"  Rain  or  no  rain,"  I  said,  putting  my  head  in  at 
the  door  of  the  room  where  Elsie  was  busy  at  her 
easel,  "  I  am  going  to  see  whether  there  is  any  one 
alive  at  Greyholt.  Perhaps  this  flood  has  swept 
them  all  away.  But  what  are  you  doing  ?" 

"  Come  and  see,"  she  answered. 

It  was  a  mere  sketch,  but  it  told  its  story  per 
fectly  ;  it  needed  no  interpreter.  There  lay  the  stal 
wart  knight,  dreaming  upon  his  luxurious  couch, — 
undisturbed  by  the  strong  beams  of  the  morning  sun 
which  were  streaming  in  through  the  open  casement. 
Casque  and  armor  lay  upon  the  floor,  shield  and 
buckler  leaned  against  the  wall.  Outside,  but  visible 
through  the  window,  was  a  band  of  armed  men, 
whose  curveting  steeds  and  waving  banners  pro 
claimed  them  ready  for  tilt  or  tournament,  or  for  the 
fiercer  conflict  of  the  deadly  fray.  Near  the  couch, 
gazing  upon  the  sleeper  with  wonder  and  with  pain, 
stood  a  woman  fair  of  face  and  noble  of  mien.  The 
very  curve  of  her  bending  figure,  the  very  pose  of 
her  head,  said  as  plainly  as  words  could  have  said  it, 
"  Awake,  thou  that  sleepest !" 
G  13 


EXPIATION. 

"  Forgetful  of  the  falcon  and  the  hunt, — 
Forgetful  of  the  tilt  and  tournament, — 
Forgetful  of  his  glory  and  his  name, 
Forgetful  of  his  princedom  and  its  cares !" — 

I  cried.     "  Elsie,  it  is  Enid  and  Geraint !" 

"Thank  you,"  she  said,  simply.  "You  have  read 
the  story.  Yes,  it  is  Enid  and  Geraint.  But  it  is 
just  a  sketch.  I  shall  never  work  it  up."  And  she 
turned  it  to  the  wall  with  a  weary  air. 

Picking  my  way  across  the  muddy  road,  and  going 
up  under  the  dripping  boughs  of  the  maples,  I  went 
round  to  the  kitchen  door.  Patsy  was  in  her  neat 
store-room,  packing  away  the  butter  from  yesterday's 
churning. 

"  Patsy,"  I  said,  going  straight  to  the  mark,  "what 
is  the  matter?  Is  either  of  the  young  gentlemen 
sick?" 

She  turned  and  looked  at  me,  with  the  upraised 
butter-ladle  in  her  hand. 

"  I  don't  know  what's  the  matter,  Miss  Rossiter. 
Something  is  up,  but  what,  is  more  than  I  can  tell. 
They  ain't  sick,  neither  of  'em,  to  my  knowledge. 
But  Clyde's  been  desputly  upset  ever  since  the  night 
Prince  was  killed.  'Twas  a  dreadful  narrow  escape, 
now,  wasn't  it?" 

"Where  are  they?"  I  asked,  with  a  nod  of  assent 
to  her  question. 

"  In  the  library.  I  wish  you'd  go  in  and  see  'em, 
Miss  Rossiter.  I  never  ask  no  questions, — for  Ken 
neth  he  knows  enough  to  attend  to  his  own  concerns, 
and  I  don't  want  to  meddle  nor  make.  But  I  kind 
o'  guess  that  Clyde's  got  on  his  high-heeled  shoes 


EXPIATION.  !47 

about  something  or  nuther ;  and  when  he  does  get 
'em  on,  it's  mighty  hard  for  Kenneth,  I  tell  you. 
They  hain't  eat  enough  to  keep  a  robin  alive  since 
that  night, — both  of  'em  put  together." 
•  "  Perhaps  they  won't  want  to  see  me,"  I  said,  hesi 
tating  a  little  as  my  thoughts  ran  backward.  "  I 
told  Kenneth  to  send  for  me  if  I  was  needed." 

"  Never  you  mind  that,"  she  answered,  turning  her 
butter  vigorously.  "  Miss  Rossiter,  you're  near  about 
old  enough  to  be  mother  to  them  boys,  and  don't 
you  go  to  putting  on  airs  with  'em  now.  Maybe 
you  can  do  'em  good.  At  any  rate,  I  think  it's  your 
bounden  duty  to  try." 

So  through  hall  and  parlor  I  went,  and  tapped  on 
the  library  door.  Kenneth  opened  it. 

He  looked  ten  years  older  than  he  had  done 
five  days  before.  "  All  thy  waves  and  thy  billows 
have  gone  over  me,"  seemed  so  clearly  whispered 
to  my  spirit  as  I  looked  upon  his  face,  that  I  in 
voluntarily  listened,  half  expecting  to  hear  his  lips 
repeat  the  words.  Yet  he  was  calm  and  quiet  in 
manner,  and  took  my  hand  in  his  warm  clasp  as 
cordially  as  ever. 

"Won't  you  come  in?"  he  said. 

I  looked  past  him  into  the  room.  Clyde  sat  by 
the  window,  gazing  moodily  out  upon  the  sullen  skies, 
the  dripping  trees,  the  cold,  wet  earth.  He  too  had 
changed.  He  looked  worn,  troubled,  harassed.  As 
he  saw  me  he  sprang  forward,  caught  my  hand,  and 
drew  me  toward  the  fire,  which  since  the  storm  had 
grown  to  be  a  daily  necessity.  There  was  a  hungry 
craving  in  his  eyes  that  startled  me. 


EXPIATION. 

"Well,  young  gentlemen,"  I  said,  lightly,  "what 
vows  have  you  taken  upon  yourselves  now  ?  Have 
you  turned  hermits  or  recluses  ?  I  half  expected  to 
find  you  in  the  brown  habit  of  the  barefooted  Car 
melites."  • 

"Vows  of  silence,  for  one  thiag,"  returned  Ken 
neth.  "  If  you  look  closely,  you  will  see  the  seal 
upon  my  lips." 

Apparently  the  words  were  spoken  in  jest.  He 
thought  I  would  so  receive  them.  But  as  I  caught 
his  eye  I  felt  that  some  bitter  truth  was  underlying 
them.  They  were  spoken  to  his  own  soul,  and  not 
to  me. 

From  beneath  his  heavy,  frowning  eyebrows,  Clyde 
shot  a  fierce  glance  at  Kenneth. 

"  It  is  all  his  work !"  he  cried.  "  I  will  not  bear  it ! 
I  am  not  a  baby,  and  I  will  be  kept  in  leading-strings 
no  longer.  From  this  day  forward,  Kenneth  Arm 
strong,  I  take  my  own  course.  I  will  not  submit  to 
your  dictation." 

The  words  seem  tame  enough  as  I  have  written 
them  down.  But  emphasized  by  his  flashing  eyes, 
his  eager,  passionate  voice,  his  haughty,  impetuous 
bearing,  they  were  anything  but  tame.  I  looked 
from  one  to  the  other  in  a  maze  of  sorrow. 

Kenneth  was  leaning  against  the  mantel,  twirling 
an  ivory  pen-holder  he  had  just  taken  from  the  rack. 
As  he  met  my  eye,  his  fingers  closed  upon  it  con 
vulsively,  and  it  snapped  like  a  pipe-stem.  But  he 
manifested  no  other  sign  of  emotion.  Ere  he  had 
time  to  speak,  Clyde  returned  to  the  charge. 

"  I  will  do  as  I  choose ;  I  will  come  and  go  as  I 


EXPIATION. 


149 


please,"  he  said,  tossing  back  his  tawny  locks  with 
the  air  of  a  young  lion.  "  Because  you  are  three  years 
the  elder,  you  think  I  belong  to  you,  soul  and  body. 
You  would  make  me  the  slave  of  your  caprices. 
But  I  tell  you  I  will  be  ruled  by  you  no  longer.  I  am 
free !" 

I  turned  to  leave  the  room.  The  scene  was  grow 
ing  too  painful;  and,  besides,  I  felt  myself  decidedly 
de  trop.  But  Clyde  strode  swiftly  to  the  door  and 
closed  it. 

"  Stay  here,  if  you  please,  Miss  Rossiter !  You 
came  just  in  time  to  hear  my  declaration  of  inde 
pendence.  Do  you  hear  it  too,  Kenneth  Armstrong  ? 
From  this  day  forward  I  am  my  own  master." 

His  hand  was  on  the  door-knob,  and  I  could  not 
escape  if  I  would.  I  think  I  must  have  looked  fright 
ened, — I  know  I  felt  so, — for  Kenneth  turned  to  me  for 
one  instant  with  a  reassuring  glance.  Then  he  gave 
his  attention  to  Clyde  again. 

"  Of  course  you  are  your  own  master,  Clyde,"  he 
said,  very  gently,  and  with  no  trace  of  heat  or  bitter 
ness  in  his  manner.  "  Of  course  you  are  free — to  do 
whatever  is  best  and  right.  We  are  none  of  us  free 
in  any  other  sense." 

"  Don't  philosophize,"  returned  the  other,  sharply 
"  I  am  in  no  mood  for  listening  to  platitudes.  All  I 
want  to  know  is  this.  Do  you  accept  the  situation  ? 
Do  you  understand  that  your  assumed  control  over 
me  ceases  from  this  hour  ?" 

Kenneth's  countenance  changed  at  last.  An  inde 
scribable  expression  of  yearning  pain  swept  over  it. 
He  went  up  to  Clyde,  who  was  pacing  back  and 


!5Q  EXPIATION. 

forth  across  the  room,  and  placed  a  hand  upon  either 
shoulder, — looking  him  full  in  the  face  with  his  clear, 
strong,  gray  eyes.  But  there  was  a  sorrowful  quiver 
in  his  voice,  as  he  said, — 

"  Clyde,  I  understand,  I  shall  understand,  only 
this.  I  am  your  brother.  We  are  bound  together 
by  the  closest,  tenderest  ties.  Just  as  long  as  God 
gives  me  life  and  being  I  shall  love  you,  help  you, 
and  care  for  you.  You  cannot  emancipate  yourself 
from  my  love,  for  it  will  follow  you  to  the  world's 
end." 

I  might  have  left  the  room,  for  the  door  was  no 
longer  barricaded.  But  I  was  gazing  with  a  fascinated 
gaze  upon  the  two  brothers.  For  a  moment  or  two 
Clyde  looked  into  Kenneth's  face  unblenchingly,  as  a 
young  eagle  might  look  upon  the  sun.  Then  his 
eyes  began  to  waver ;  they  glanced  right  and  left,  up 
and  down, — while  Kenneth's  were  as  steady  as  that 
sun  itself, — until  at  last  the  white  lids  dropped  over 
them,  veiling  their  burning  brightness. 

Then  Kenneth  leaned  forward  and  kissed  his  bro 
ther's  forehead.  "Oh,  trust  me,  Clyde!"  he  whis 
pered,  with  a  strange  tenderness  in  his  voice, — a 
tenderness  that  thrilled  to  my  heart's  core.  "  Trust 
me !  Only  so  can  we  walk  safely  to  the  end. 
Believe  that  your  happiness,  your  interests,  your 
welfare  are  as  dear  to  me  as  my  own,  and  all  will  be 
well.  I  do  not  seek  to  rule  you,  Clyde.  I  only  try, 
as  best  I  may,  to  fill  our  father's  place." 

Clyde's  head  drooped  more  and  more,  until  it 
almost  touched  Kenneth's  shoulder.  Then  he  raised 
his  arms  as  with  a  mighty  effort,  clasped  them  about 


EXPIA  TION.  1 5  j 

his  brother,  straining  him  to  his  heart  for  an  instant, 
and  rushed  into  the  hall  and  up  the  stairs. 

Kenneth  sank  into  a  chair  as  one  utterly  exhausted, 
and  covered  his  face  with  his  hands.  I  was  stealing 
quietly  away,  when  he  put  out  his  arm  to  stop  me. 
"  Don't  go,"  he  said. 

I  went  back  to  him  and  laid  my  hand  upon  his 
throbbing  temples.  How  hot  and  tense  they  were ! 
"  You  have  won  the  victory,"  I  said.  It  was  neces 
sary  to  say  something,  and  I  uttered  the  first  com 
monplace  that  occurred  to  me.  But  I  was  not  pre 
pared  for  his  response. 

"  Yes,"  with  a  weary  sigh, — "  I  have  won  it  for  to 
day.  But  it  will  have  to  be  won  over  again  to-mor 
row,  and  to-morrow,  and  to-morrow  !" 

I  said  nothing  in  reply  to  this.  What  could  I  say  ? 
There  was  something  in  the  relation  of  these  two 
that  I  did  not  comprehend.  Silence  was  my  best 
resource. 

Yet  at  length  my  woman  heart  found  expres 
sion  in  one  brief  question.  "  Kenneth,  can  I  help 
you  ?" 

He  shook  his  head,  and  his  lips  formed  the  mono 
syllable  "  no."  But  no  sound  escaped  them.  At 
length  I  heard  Clyde's  footsteps  overhead,  and  rose 
hastily. 

"  I  had  better  go  now,"  I  said,  "  before  he  comes 
down." 

Kenneth  rose  also.  For  a  moment  he  looked  at 
me  with  all  his  heart  in  his  eyes.  Then  he  held  out 
both  hands  to  me. 

"  Miss  Rossiter,"  he  said,  "  I  believe  there  is  no 


152 


EXPIATION. 


other  woman  living  who  could  have  witnessed  this 
scene  and  asked  no  questions." 

"  I  have  none  to  ask,"  I  answered.  "  If  it  were 
possible  for  me  to  help  you  in  any  way,  I  should  be 
only  too  glad  to  share  your  confidence.  But  I  can 
not  seek  it." 

"Oh,  if  I  could  but  give  it!"  he  sighed.  "But  I 
told  you,  you  know," — and  here  his  lips  parted  in  a 
faint  smile, — "  I  told  you  that  I  had  taken  the  vow  of 
silence.  My  lips  are  indeed  sealed"." 

After  a  moment  I  said, — 

"  Kenneth,  you  are  both  troubled,  —  Clyde  and 
you.  Is  it  well  for  you  to  keep  yourselves  shut  up 
here  ?  A  sorrow  brooded  over  is  a  sorrow  magnified. 
I  doubt  if  you  are  acting  wisely." 

"  Perhaps  not,"  he  answered.  "  I  do  not  know. 
There  is  much  to  be  said  on  either  side.  Aunty,  I 
am  just  groping  in  the  dark.  If  I  make  mistakes, 
may  God  forgive  me!" 


CHAPTER    XIV. 

NOT  a  word  had  been  said  of  Elsie, — no  allusion 
to  her  note  had  been  made, — no  apology  offered  by 
Kenneth  for  his  neglect  of  the  invitation  contained 
therein.  I  dreaded  to  go  home  to  meet  her  ques 
tioning  eyes. 

But  I  need  have  given  myself  no  uneasiness.  She 
made  no  inquiries,  by  word  or  sign,  and  I  simply  told 


EXPIATION. 


153 


her  that  Clyde  was  not  looking  well,  with  sundry 
vague  allusions  to  bad  weather,  etc.  In  my  heart  I 
was  ashamed  of  myself;  yet  what  else  was  I  to  say? 
I  was  not  a  whit  wiser  than  when  I  went  to  Greyholt. 
I  could  have  described  the  scene  which  I  had  wit 
nessed,  as  I  have  described  it  to  you.  But  had  I  any 
right  to  do  so  ?  I  knew  that  Elsie  was  troubled ;  yet 
if  I  had  felt  at  liberty  to  tell  her  all  I  had  seen 
and  heard,  it  would  only  have  increased  her  trouble 
and  perplexity.  Ah,  sweet  spirit  of  silence !  some 
times  thou  art  indeed  blessed. 

Elsie  was  very  quiet  that  day.  That  is,  she  did  not 
sing,  neither  was  she  inclined  to  talk.  But  work  was 
her  great  panacea ;  and  she  went  from  one  employ 
ment  to  another  in  her  own  still,  unobtrusive  way, 
yet  steadily,  as  if  goaded  by  the  demon  of  unrest. 
There  were  no  pretty  loiterings  in  window  or  door 
way  ;  no  pauses  when  she  sat  with  happy,  smiling 
eyes  lost  in  a  young  girl's  dreamy  reverie. 

But  that  evening  I  paused  in  my  reading  to  listen 
to  the  click  of  the  gate-latch  ;  and  presently  the  well- 
known  footsteps  sounded  on  the  gravel-walk. 

Clyde's  appearance  belied  my  words.  I  had  told 
Elsie  that  he  was  not  looking  well ;  but  it  seemed 
to  me  that  night  that  I  had  never  seen  him  look 
ing  better.  His  large,  luminous  eyes  glowed  with 
softened  fire ;  his  cheeks,  so  wan  and  haggard  in  the 
morning,  wore  again  the  rich  coloring  of  youth  and 
health ;  his  lips  curved  in  a  rare,  proud  smile;  and  as  he 
stepped  quickly  across  the  room  to  bow  with  chival- 
ric  deference  over  Elsie's  hand,  I  thought  I  had  never 
seen  a  finer  specimen  of  manly  beauty.  It  was  a 
G* 


154 


EXPIA  TION. 


strange  beauty,  too,  of  the  warm  blonde  type,  with 
such  lustrous  eyes  of  burning  black,  and  clustering 
waves  of  hair  that  changed  from  reddish  gold  to 
darkest  auburn,  according  to  the  degree  of  light  that 
fell  upon  them.  He  seemed  a  young  Adonis  that 
night,  rejoicing  in  the  strength  and  glory  of  his 
dawning  manhood. 

What  shall  I  say  of  Kenneth  ?  Clyde  had  appar 
ently  forgotten  the  events  of  the  morning  :  he  was  as 
gay,  as  sunny,  as  free  from  any  sense  of  care  and  re 
sponsibility  as  ever  he  had  been.  You  would  not 
have  believed,  had  you  seen  the  graceful,  half-tender 
beauty  of  his  bearing  toward  his  brother,  that  those 
perfect,  smiling  lips  could  ever  have  uttered  the  words 
I  had  heard  that  forenoon.  I  half  doubted  the  evi 
dence  of  my  own  senses,  and  wondered  if  my  memory 
was  playing  tricks  with  me. 

But  Kenneth's  nature  was  in  one  sense  like  granite. 
Impressions  once  received  were  long-enduring.  Pie 
bore  upon  brow  and  lip,  and  in  his  heavy,  shadowed 
eyes,  perceptible  traces  of  the  conflict  through  which 
he  had  passed. 

That  was  a  strange  evening.  All  its  brightness 
emanated  from  Clyde,  who,  half  reclining  upon  a  low 
divan  at  Elsie's  feet,  looked  up  in  her  face  as  a  devotee 
might  look  upon  a  saint.  He  was  happy, — there  was 
no  doubt  of  that,  whatever  might  be  said  of  the  rest 
of  us.  It  seemed  to  me  that  the  astral  lamp  burned 
more  dimly  than  its  wont,  and  that  the  open  fire, 
which  was  of  itself  a  never-failing  fountain  of  light 
and  radiance,  had  ceased  to  do  its  office.  There  were 
shadows  in  the  far  corners  of  the  room  ;  they  hovered 


EXPIA  T/O.V. 


155 


about  window  and  doorway  and  ensconced  themselves 
in  forbidden  places. 

I  glanced  up  at  the  cornices  and  at  the  dusky-haired 
Madonna  over  the  mantel -piece.  The  woodbine 
wreaths  were  still  there;  but,  ah!  their  crimson  had 
changed  to  dingy  brown,  and  the  leaves  were  crum 
pled  and  sere.  The  vases  were  empty, — save  one  in 
which  "  the  last  rose  of  summer"  still  lingered.  Out 
in  the  garden,  which  had  been  so  gay  with  the  late 
autumnal  blooms  but  a  few  short  days  before,  the 
heavy  rains  had  made  wild  havoc,  and  the  broken 
flower-stalks  trailed  upon  the  cold,  wet  ground.  The 
faded  ferns  had  been  removed  from  the  punch-bowl, 
and  nothing  was  left  but  the  checkerberry-vine,  still 
gay  in  its  scarlet  and  green. 

I  looked  at  Elsie,  sitting  over  against  the  fire-light. 
No  golden  coronet  crowned  the  fair  forehead  to-night, 
no  flowing  curls  drooped  daintily  upon  the  shoulder. 
Her  soft  hair  rippled  plainly  back  over  the  small, 
shell-like  ears,  and  strove  to  hide  its  shining  wealth 
in  the  meshes  of  a  simple  net.  No  azure  robe  set 
off  the  snowy  whiteness  of  her  skin  ;  but  a  plain 
black  dress,  such  as  I  might  have  worn,  left  her  beauty 
wholly  unadorned.  The  pearl  ornaments  rested  in 
their  casket  up-stairs ;  and  one  little  knot  of  blue 
ribbon  fastened  the  narrow  linen  collar  at  the  throat. 

As  for  me,  instead  of  the  shining  silk  in  which,  to 
please  Elsie,  I  had  arrayed  myself  the  other  night,  I 
wore  my  every-day  brown  alpaca.  Neither  the  house 
nor  its  inmates  were  in  festal  trim.  That  was  not  one 
of  our  gala-days. 

The  contrast  struck  me  forcibly,     I  think  it  struck 


156  EXPIATION. 

Elsie  also;  for,  even  while  she  strove  to  answer  Clyde's 
gay  sallies,  she  grew  paler,  colder,  stiller. 

Clyde  monopolized  her,  as  he  was  prone  to  do  ;  and 
after  a  few  words  of  courteous,  kindly  greeting,  Ken 
neth  devoted  himself  chiefly  to  me.  But  often,  as 
we  talked,  I  noticed  that  his  eye  wandered  away  from 
me  to  the  two  who  sat  by  the  fireplace  ;  and  that  when 
ever  it  did  so  wander,  its  shadows  deepened,  and  the 
strong,  firm  mouth  which  could  yet  be  so  unspeakably 
tender,  quivered  as  with  sharp  and  sudden  pain. 

Once  my  eye  followed  his.  Elsie,  as  usual,  had 
some  pretty  bit  of  crocheting  in  hand,  and  was  busy 
with  her  white  and  scarlet  wools,  in  and  out  of 
which  the  ivory  needle  darted  swiftly.  Just  then  she 
had  reached  some  critical  point,  and  with  head  bent 
and  eyes  completely  veiled  by  their  long,  curved 
lashes,  she  was  counting  her  stitches.  Clyde,  with 
one  hand  thrust  in  the  glittering  mazes  of  his  hair 
and  his  elbow  resting  on  his  knee,  sat  watching  her, — 
reading  her  face  as  intently  as  a  monk  might  read  his 
missal.  But,  alas  !  there  was  a  passionate  glow  and 
fervor  in  the  glances  which  still  failed  to  warm  her 
almost  colorless  cheek,  that  never  yet  burned  in  the 
eyes  of  an  anchorite.  Something  in  Clyde's  looks 
or  bearing  revealed  to  me  the  whole  truth, — it  told 
me  that  he  too  loved  Elsie  Meredith. 

It  flashed  upon  me  in  a  moment,  and  I  caught 
my  breath  in  the  suddenness  of  the  shock.  Kenneth 
and  Elsie  had  become  inseparably  connected  in  my 
thoughts.  But  Clyde !  This  was  indeed  a  new  and 
disturbing  element.  Even  his  strange  looks  and  words 
in  the  ravine  had  not  awakened  my  suspicions.  I 


EXPIA  TION. 


157 


thought  that  the  sudden  terror  of  the  storm  and  the 
terrible  shock  of  Elsie's  supposed  death  had  over 
come  his  strength  and  made  him  semi-delirious  for 
awhile ;  and  I  had  not  dreamed  of  this. 

But  I  knew  it  now, — and  Kenneth  knew  it  too. 
One  glance  at  his  stern,  set  face  told  me  that.  Yet 
the  sternness  seemed  directed  toward  himself;  not 
toward  the  two  at  whom  he  was  gazing. 

It  was  a  positive  relief  when  Kenneth  rose  to  go, 
so  making  his  adieus  as  to  include  Clyde  and  ren 
der  it  impossible  for  him  to  remain  longer  without 
discourtesy.  But  in  the  general  shifting  of  the  kaleid 
oscope  that  took  place  just  then,  Kenneth  and  Elsie 
were  thrown  together,  while  Clyde  drifted  over  to  me. 

There  had  been  a  touch  of  pain  and  weariness  in 
Elsie's  face  all  the  evening.  I  wondered  if  Kenneth 
saw  it  as  she  glided  up  to  him  and  hesitatingly  laid 
her  hand  upon  his  arm. 

"  I  have  so  wanted  to  see  you,"  she  said,  glancing 
up  at  him  with  timid  eyes.  "  I  wrote  you  a  note, — 
but  perhaps  Dennis  forgot  it." 

"  I  have  been  much  engaged,"  he  answered,  eva 
sively,  resisting  the  temptation  to  imprison  within 
his  own  the  small,  white  fingers  that  caressed  his 
sleeve.  No  marble  statue  could  have  been,  appar 
ently,  more  insensible  to  the  gentle  touch, — and  it 
was  presently  withdrawn. 

"  I  have  wanted  to  thank  you  for — for  what  you  did 
the  other  night,"  she  said,  betraying  by  the  enforced 
steadiness  of  her  voice  the  restraint  she  was  placing 
upon  herself.  "I  dare  not  allow  myself  to  think " 

"  Do  not  speak  of  it,"  he  interrupted.     "  It  was 


158 


EXPIA  TION. 


nothing.  I  should  have  done  the  same  for  the  veriest 
stranger,  or  even  for  an  enemy.  You  owe  me  no 
thanks." 

"  But  I  must  thank  you,  nevertheless,"  she  con 
tinued  ;  and  I  felt,  if  he  did  not,  the  pang  his  indiffer 
ent  words  had  caused  her.  "  The  stranger,  or  the 
enemy,  could  do  no  less  than  that." 

For  an  instant  he  wavered.  There  were  burning 
words  upon  his  tongue,  which  he  longed  to  whisper, 
but  did  not.  Instead,  after  a  moment's  pause  he  re 
peated,  quietly,  "  It  was  nothing."  Then  he  turned 
to  Clyde. 

"  Come,"  he  said.  "  It  is  getting  late.  Good-even 
ing,  ladies." 

Elsie  took  a  candle,  and  started  to  go  up-stairs. 
As  she  reached  the  hall  door,  she  turned  toward  me. 

"  Oh,  Aunt  Margaret !"  she  cried,  "  if  Uncle  How 
ard  would  only  come  back  !  I  need  him.  I  want  to 
go  home !" 

"  I  know  it,  dear  child,"  I  answered,  tenderly.  "  But 
he  will  come  soon, — in  a  month  or  six  weeks." 

She  pushed  the  hair  back  from  her  forehead  with 
a  weary  touch.  "  Yes, — but  that  seems  like  an  eter 
nity."  And  she  passed  up  the  stairs. 

I  did  not  follow  her,  but  went  back  to  the  fire,  and 
for  a  long  hour  sat  peering  into  the  glowing  embers, 
trying  to  read  the  destinies  of  these  three  whom  my 
heart  had  adopted  as  its  own.  Life  plays  at  cross- 
purposes  with  us  every  day;  but  the  enigma  she  had 
now  propounded  for  my  solving  was  beyond  my  skill. 
I  began  to  see  that  it  could  not  be  answered,  but 
must  be  worked  out  step  by  step,  like  a  problem  in 


EXPIATION. 


159 


mathematics.  And  to  at  least  one  of  the  parties — 
probably  to  more  than  one — each  step  would  be  a 
separate  pang. 

What  would  Kenneth  do  ?  What  did  he  intend  to 
do  ?  Had  he  marked  out  a  course  for  himself,  and 
would  he  tread  it  unshrinkingly  to  the  end  ?  Was 
he,  as  appearances  to-night  had  indicated,  preparing 
in  a  spirit  of  lofty  self-abnegation  to  immolate  his  love 
upon  the  altar  of  brotherly  devotion  ?  Would  he 
sink  quietly  into  the  background,  and,  if  she  could 
be  won,  receive  from  Clyde's  hands  as  a  sister  the 
woman  he  had  hoped  to  call  his  wife?  Would  he 
shut  his  eyes  henceforward  to  the  pure,  maidenly 
love,  not  for  Clyde  but  for  himself,  that  he  could  not 
fail  to  see  was  growing  in  Elsie's  heart? 

I  did  not  know  Kenneth  Armstrong  well  enough 
to  answer  these  questions,  although  I  believed  him 
capable  of  almost  any  act  of  self-sacrifice.  But  as 
the  weeks  rolled  on,  I  grew  more  and  more  at  a  loss. 
Between  him  and  Elsie  there  seemed  a  great  gulf 
fixed;  a  gulf  that  neither  of  them  attempted  to  pass. 
He  did  not  shun  her  presence,  but  neither  did  he  seek 
it,  except  when  compelled  to  do  so.  Cautious  and 
kindly  always, — for,  true  gentleman  that  he  was,  he 
could  not  have  been  otherwise, — he  yet  seemed  to 
have  set  a  bound  for  himself  over  which  he  never 
passed.  There  were  no  more  of  those  long  talks  in 
which  soul  spoke  to  soul  even  more  clearly  than  lip 
to  lip.  He  never  read  aloud  to  her  now,  "  lending 
the  rhyme  of  the  poet  the  beauty  of  his  voice,"  and 
thus  giving  utterance  to  the  passionate  devotion  he 
could  not  quite  conceal,  but  for  the  avowal  of  which 


l6o  EXPIATION. 

the  time  was  not  yet  ripe.  There  were  no  more 
loitering  in  the  soft  twilights,  no  more  quick  answer 
ing  glances  when  the  same  high  thought  stirred  in 
the  heart  of  each. 

She  sang  for  him  sometimes,  but  it  was  when  we 
were  all  together :  never  when  they  were  alone.  And 
I  remarked  that  he  never  called  for  the  old  songs 
that  had  so  thrilled  him  in  the  past.  Whatever  could 
in  any  way  bring  them  into  their  old  relation — which, 
while  it  had  not  been  that  of  openly  avowed  lovers, 
had  yet  long  since  passed  the  bounds  of  mere  friend 
liness — he  seemed  instinctively  to  avoid. 

Yet — and  here  was  the  puzzle — he  was  not  giving 
her  up  to  Clyde.  He  had  apparently  withdrawn 
from  the  lists  himself;  but  he  still  threw  every 
possible  hindrance  in  his  brother's  way.  Watching 
them  both,  with  eyes  sharpened  by  affection  and 
anxiety,  I  soon  saw  that  Kenneth's  every  thought 
was  concentrated  upon  the  effort  to  keep  Clyde  and 
Elsie  apart,  —  to  pile  up  obstacles  between  them 
mountain  high. 

I  did  not  like  this.  In  the  first  place,  what  law  of 
ethics,  human  or  divine,  demanded  of  Kenneth  such  a 
sacrifice  as  he  was  making?  It  seemed  to  me  a  sort  of 
mock  heroism.  There  was  a  touch  of  the  melo-drama- 
tic  about  it,  which  did  not  suit  me.  If  a  love  had  grown 
up  between  him  and  Elsie,  everything  in  their  posi 
tions,  characters,  and  circumstances  went  to  prove  that 
it  was  a  God-appointed  love,  with  which  no  fanciful 
ideas  of  brotherly  obligation  should  be  allowed  to 
interfere.  I  doubted  if  he  were  doing  right.  Why 
did  he  not  go.  to  Clyde  and  say,  frankly,  "  We  both 


EXPIATION.  !6i 

love  this  girl,  but  my  love  is  an  older,  a  stronger  love 
than  yours.  Mine  is  full  grown;  yours  is  only  in 
the  bud.  I  have  already  wooed  her :  not  in  words, 
it  is  true,  but  in  the  acts  that  speak  louder  than 
words,  and  I  believe  that  she  is  beginning  to  love 
me.  In  this  matter  you  should  yield  to  me,  not  I 
to  you." 

But  even  as  I  thus  wearied  myself  with  question 
ings,  I  knew  that  Clyde  would  not  yield  to  Kenneth, 
and  that  such  an  appeal  would  have  been  made 
utterly  in  vain.  If  anything  were  said,  it  would  have 
to  be  this :  "  We  will  enter  the  lists  together  and 
give  each  other  fair  play.  Let  the  best  man  win." 

Ah  !  Kenneth  could  never  say  that.  The  training 
of  his  whole  life  forbade  it. 

But  why  make  a  half-sacrifice  ?  If  one  must  die, 
surely  it  were  better  to  die  like  a  man  than  to  sneak 
out  of  life  like  a  coward.  Had  Kenneth  strength  to 
shut  Elsie  out  from  his  own  heart,  but  not  strength 
enough  to  see  her  won  by  another  ?  Or  was  there  a 
little  of  the  dog-in-the-manger  even  here,  where  I  had 
thought  all  nobleness  was  garnered  ? 

But  whatever  my  queryings  might  be,  I  kept  them 
to  myself.  I  did  not  dare  to  meddle  with  these  three 
souls.  If  they  had  been  my  own  children  I  would 
not  have  dared  to  lay  my  sacrilegious  hand  upon 
the  delicate  mechanism  that  a  touch  might  harm 
beyond  repair.  There  are  balances  upon  which  even 
a  mother  has  no  right  to  lay  so  much  as  a  feather's 
weight.  There  is  a  holy  of  holies  in  every  one  of 
the  souls  that  God  has  committed  to  her  keeping, 
into  which  even  she  has  no  right  to  enter ;  there  are 

14*  ' 


!62  EXPIATION. 

hidden  arcana  into  which  even  she  must  not  seek  to 
penetrate. 

So  I  simply  observed,  and  waited  for  the  develop 
ments  that  I  knew  must  come  at  last. 

Kenneth,  it  seemed,  had  no  such  fears  as  those  to 
which  I  have  just  alluded.  He  was  not  at  all  afraid 
of  interfering  with  matters  that  had  better  be  let 
alone.  Clyde  hardly  found  in  his  own  shadow  a  more 
inseparable  companion  than  Kenneth,  during  the 
hours  in  which  there  was  a  probability  of  meeting 
Elsie.  If  the  younger  brother  wandered  off  under 
the  maples,  and,  crossing  the  yellow  road,  walked  up 
the  little  graveled  path  that  led  to  Cozytoft,  you  may 
be  sure  that  the  elder  was  never  far  behind.  Elsie 
had  not  had  courage  to  mount  a  horse  since  that 
fearful  night-ride ;  but  if  Clyde  proposed  a  drive, 
Destiny,  in  the  shape  of  Kenneth,  always  interfered 
in  some  way  to  prevent  its  being  a  tete-a-tete.  If  a 
ramble  was  proposed,  "  aunty's"  shawl  was  brought 
by  the  same  adroit  manceuverer,  and  we  all  started  out 
together.  I  could  see  that  Kenneth  strove  by  every 
means  in  his  power,  by  hunting  up  employments  for 
him,  by  little  excursions  into  the  surrounding  coun 
try,  by  suggesting  improvements  and  alterations  in 
the  green-house  and  in  the  laying  out  of  the  grounds, 
by  searching  out  new  interests  to  occupy  his  thoughts, 
and  by  filling  up,  as  far  as  was  possible,  every  available 
moment  of  his  time,  to  keep  Clyde  away  from  Cozy- 
toft.  Sometimes  he  succeeded  for  days  together; 
but  failing  in  that,  he  strov  •  to  neutralize  the  evil 
by  introducing  into  Clyde's  intercourse  with  my  fair 
guest  such  a  strong  proportion  of  broad,  open  day- 


EXPIA  TION. 


I63 


light,  such  a  matter-of-fact  element,  so  to  speak,  that 
the  atmosphere  became  unfavorable  to  the  growth  of 
sentiment. 

Yet  in  spite  of  all  this  it  did  grow,  day  by  day. 
Clyde's  devotion  became,  to  me  at  least,  more  and 
more  apparent. 

Many  a  heart  has  been  "  caught  in  the  rebound." 
Would  the  saying  prove  true  in  this  instance  ?  Elsie 
would  have  been  more  or  less  than  woman  if,  in  con 
trast  to  his  brother's  studied  coolness,  this  devotion 
had  not  been  grateful  to  her.  Besides,  she  had  always 
liked  him  :  they  had  had  much  in  common  ;  and  in 
the  free  brotherly  and  sisterly  intercourse  that  they 
had  held  all  summer,  they  had  drawn  very  near  to 
each  other.  All  that  was  brightest,  most  charming, 
most  winning  in  Clyde  blossomed  in  the  sunshine  of 
Elsie's  presence.  He  never  betrayed  to  her,  or  before 
her,  any  of  his  waywardnesses,  his  caprices,  his  freaks 
of  temper.  She  drew  out  the  best  that  was  in  him,  and 
to  her  he  was  all  that  was  gentle,  noble,  and  manly. 

As  a  rule,  I  think  it  is  true  that  personal  beauty  in 
man  makes  but  little  impression  upon  women.  They 
do  not  demand  in  their  heroes  smoothness  of  outline 
and  perfection  of  feature,  preferring  even  a  rugged 
exterior  if  it  betokens  the  strength  for  which  they 
instinctively  seek.  But  Clyde's  beauty  was  so  strik 
ing,  so  peculiar,  that  I  could  not  help  regarding  it 
as  one  of  the  surest  arrows  in  his  quiver.  It  had  its 
influence  even  upon  me,  and  I  was  getting  to  be  an 
old  woman.  I  loved  to  look  at  him  as  I  loved  to 
look  at  a  beautiful  picture  or  a  fine  statue ;  the  glory 
of  his  hair  was  a  delight  to  me,  and  the  very  poise 


EXPIATION. 


of  his  shapely  head  gave  me  a  sense  of  aesthetic 
pleasure.  I  could  not  help  asking  myself,  some 
times,  what  effect  it  would  be  likely  to  have  upon 
me  if  I  were  a  young  girl  and  this  paragon  were  my 
lover. 


CHAPTER    XV. 

CLYDE  was  growing  restive.  The  curb  chafed  and 
worried  him,  even  while,  so  adroit  was  Kenneth's 
management,  he  was  not  distinctly  aware  that  he  was 
curbed.  I  knew  that  his  brother  perceived  it,  but  I 
saw  also  that  he  made  no  change  in  his  course.  If 
anything,  his  vigilance  increased ;  and  I  lived  in  con 
stant  fear  of  an  outbreak  between  these  two.  If  I 
could  only  do  something  to  help  them  !  For  even  in 
my  blindness  I  felt  that  they  needed  help. 

"  Kenneth,"  said  I,  the  next  time  I  saw  him,  "  I 
should  think"  you  and  Clyde  would  like  to  go  off  on 
a  journey  somewhere.  You  have  not  been  away 
since  you  came  from  New  York, — and  Clyde  has 
taken  no  long  trip  since  your  father  first  brought 
him  here.  It  would  do  you  both  good." 

"'Traveling  is  a  fool's  paradise,'  according  to 
Emerson,  and  '  the  wise  man  stays  at  home,'  "  he 
answered.  "  I  have  already  journeyed  enough  to 
discover  what  our  Philosopher  par  excellence  calls 
'  the  indifference  of  places.'  We  carry  ourselves  with 
us  wherever  we  go." 

"  But   we   all   need   change,  variety,"   I  rejoined. 


EXPIA  TION. 


I65 


"  You  are  both  young  men.  You  need,  especially 
Clyde,  to  see  more  of  the  world." 

Kenneth's  face  darkened,  and  he  spoke  quickly, 
almost  sternly : 

"  Do  not  put  such  ideas  into  his  head,  I  beg  of 
you,  Miss  Rossiter.  It  would  be  the  greatest  misfor 
tune But  I  beg  your  pardon  for  my  hasty  words. 

Only  believe  me,  the  less  that  is  said  to  Clyde  about 
seeing  the  world,  the  better." 

"  Then  you  might  go  to  the  Adirondacks.  The 
world  has  not  wandered  up  there  yet — or  but  a  small 
fragment  of  it.  Jim  Wilson  says  the  hunting  is  very 
fine,  and  he  brought  home  some  splendid  venison." 

"That's  a  bright  thought  of  yours,  aunty,"  he  said, 
turning  round  with  a  sunnier  smile  than  I  had  seen 
upon  his  face  for  many  a  day.  "  That's  a  bright  thought. 
We  will  go  to-morrow,  if  I  can  get  Clyde  started  ;  and 
by  the  first  of  the  week  we'll  send  you  a  saddle  of 
venison  such  as  Jim  Wilson  never  dreamed  of." 

But  Clyde  peremptorily  refused  to  go.  For  his 
part,  he  preferred  civilized  life ;  he  had  no  fancy  for 
"  roughing  it,"  especially  now  when  the  weather  was 
growing  cold  and  inclement.  When  he  turned  hunter, 
he  would  go  to  the  Far  West,  get  an  Indian  tribe  to 
adopt  him  with  all  due  ceremonials,  marry  some  dusky 
beauty,  and  settle  down  in  a  wigwam.  He  did  not 
believe  in  half-way  measures.  But  Kenneth  could  go 
if  he  pleased.  Why  did  he  not  ?  Indeed,  Clyde  would 
be  very  glad  to  have  him  go,  and  thought  he  had 
better  start  at  once,  by  all  means. 

To  which  proposition  Kenneth  did  not  agree.  So 
my  bright  thought  went  after  the  myriad  of  its 


1 66  EXPIATION. 

kindred  that  have  been  lost  in  the  deep  sea  of 
oblivion. 

Patsy  flitted  in  and  out  that  week  oftener  than  was 
her  wont.  But  it  so  happened  that  she  never  chanced 
to  find  me  alone.  At  last  one  evening  as  I  saw  her 
tall,  spare,  yet  not  uncomely  figure  making  its  way 
along  by  the  hedge,  it  occurred  to  me  that  she  might 
have  something  to  say  that  she  did  not  care  to  say 
before  Matty.  She  was  in  the  habit  of  consulting 
me  with  regard  to  sundry  details  of  household 
arrangement  concerning  which  she  thought  I  could 
read  the  tastes  of  the  young  gentlemen  better  than 
she  could. 

So  when  I  saw  her  coming  I  stepped  out  at  the 
back  door.  Her  face  brightened  as  she  saw  me,  and 
she  beckoned  me  to  one  side  with  an  air  of  mystery. 

"  Miss  Rossiter,"  she  whispered,  "  I'm  proper  glad 
to  get  a  chance  to  speak  to  you  alone.  There's  been 
lots  o'  things  a-troubling  me  lately." 

"  Is  that  so,  Patsy  ?  I  am  sorry.  But  what's  the 
matter  ?  Don't  the  new  recipes  I  gave  you  work 
well  ?" 

"  Oh,  I  hain't  tried  "em,"  she  answered.  "  I  never 
could  do  much  with  rules  for  cookin'.  I  mostly  put 
in  a  little  o'  this,  and  a  cupful  o'  that,  and  a  pinch  o' 
t'other,  and  stir  'em  all  up  well,  and  it  comes  out 
about  right,  most  generally.  I  tell  you  what,  Miss 
Rossiter,  cookin'  comes  by  natur'.  If  you  hain't  got 
the  faculty,  book  rules  won't  do  you  but  mighty  little 
good.  No,  indeed  !  it  wasn't  the  recipes  that  troubled 
me,  not  by  a  great  sight." 

"  Well,  what  was  it,  then  ?" 


EXPIATION. 


I67 


"  You've  got  your  shawl  on  ?  Come  off  here  out 
o'  sight  and  hearin',  Miss  Rossiter,  and  I'll  tell  you 
all  about  it.  Matty  she's  good-hearted  enough,  fur- 
zino,  but  she's  got  dreadful  long  ears." 

We  wandered  off  out  of  range  of  the  windows,  and 
Patsy  took  off  her  apron  and  spread  it  over  a  rough 
board  to  make  a  seat  for  me.  Then  she  sat  down 
herself. 

"  It's  Tom  Bradshaw,  Miss  Rossiter.  That's  what's 
the  trouble." 

"  Tom  Bradshaw  !  What  difficulty  can  there  be 
between  you  and  him,  Patsy  ?" 

"  Not  a  mite  of  any.  You  know  he  used  to  work 
for  Mr.  Armstrong  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  believe  so.  But  I  do  not  remember 
much  about  it.  He  did  not  work  for  him  long,  did 
he?" 

"  No,  not  a  great  while;  and  now  you're  coming  to 
the  very  p'int.  He  was  turned  away.  I  never  knew 
justly  what  for, — but  I  kind  o'  reckoned  it  was  for 
sneaking  round,  prying  into  what  wa'n't  no  business 
o'  hisn.  At  any  rate,  that's  just  what  he's  been  a- 
doing  ever  since  he  was  born." 

"  But  what  of  it  just  now  ?" 

"  Oh,  you  see  he's  owed  the  Armstrongs  a  grudge 
ever  since ;  especially  Kenneth,  who  had  something 
or  nuther  to  do  with  his  being  turned  off.  He's  told 
awful  stories  about  him,  first  and  last,  Miss  Rossiter. 
I  declare  to  goodness,  it  just  puts  me  out  o'  all  sorts 
o'  patience." 

"Let  him  talk,"  I  said,  reassuringly;  for  Patsy's 
face  proved  the  truth  of  her  words,  and  her  voice 


1 68  .  EXPIATION. 

trembled  with  excitement.  "  He  can't  hurt  Kenneth. 
It  is  not  worth  while  to  mind  his  nonsense." 

"  But  he  has  hurt  him,  Miss  Rossiter;  he  does  hurt 
him.  He's  a  dreadful  plausible  chap,  and  he  makes 
folks  believe  just  what  he  tells  'em." 

I  did  not  answer  her  for  a  minute.  My  memory 
had  gone  back  a  year,  and  I  was  thinking  of  the 
conversation  I  had  chanced  to  hear  in  the  store 
between  Tom  Bradshaw,  the  major,  and  the  squire. 

"  Folks  down  to  the  Corners  are  getting  dreadfully 
interested  in  Clyde  lately,  seems  to  me,"  she  went  on, 
after  awhile. 

"  How  in  Clyde,  particularly  ?  What  do  you 
mean?" 

"  Oh,  I  do'  know." 

But  it  was  evident  that  she  did  know.  So  I  waited 
in  patience  till  she  was  ready  to  tell  me. 

"  Miss  Rossiter,"  she  said,  at  last,  "  do  you  know 
anything  about  these  boys'  business  matters?" 

"  Not  much.  I  imagine  that  there  is  not  a  great 
deal  to  know." 

"  Did  the  old  man  make  a  will  ?" 

"  Not  that  I  know  of.     Why  ?" 

"  Did  the  property  belong  to  Clyde's  mother,  or 
to  Kenneth's?"  she  went  on,  entirely  ignoring  my 
question. 

"  We  have  no  reason  to  suppose  that  Mr.  Arm 
strong's  property  came  to  him  through  either  of  his 
wives.  He  was  extensively  engaged  in  business  for 
many  years  ;  and  I  presume  he  made  his  money  as 
most  other  men  do, — by  working  for  it." 

Patsy  gave  two  or  three  satisfied  nods.     "  Just  so," 


EXPIATION. 


169 


she  said, — "just  so!  That's  just  what  I've  told  'em 
allus.  How  folks  will  talk  !"  she  added,  reflectively. 

"  But  how  are  the  people  in  the  village  getting 
interested  in  Clyde  ?"  I  asked. 

"  Oh,  it's  Tom  Bradshaw,  that's  all.  He  does  say, 
Miss  Rossiter,  that  when  Kenneth  came  out  of  his 
father's  room  the  night  he  died,  he  went  right  straight 
to  the  safe  and  began  overhauling  the  papers,  putting 
some  in  and  taking  some  out,  before  he'd  been  in  to 
see  Clyde  or  anything.  Now,  you  know  it  ain't  so, 
for  you  was  with  Kenneth  when  he  come  down 
stairs,  and  when  he  was  a-hunting  all  over  the  house 
for  Clyde.  You  know  it  ain't  true ;  and  I  hope  you 
won't  make  no  bones  about  saying  so." 

"  But,  Patsy,"  I  said,  "  it  is  true  that  he  went  to 
the  safe  that  night,  for  I  went  with  him  and  held  the 
light  myself." 

"  You  don't  say  so  !"  And  Patsy  turned  round  to 
me  with  amazement  and  dissatisfaction  in  her  face. 
"  I  didn't  believe  one  word  of  it.  But  don't  tell  me  't 
he  went  to  taking  out  papers  and  destroying  of  'em, 
for  I  know  better." 

"  No,"  I  replied,  "  he  took  none  out ;  but  he  put 
one  in, — one  that  he  had  in  his  hand  when  I  found 
him  by  his  father's  bedside  that  night.  That  is  all 
I  know  about  it,  Patsy.  Kenneth  has  never  alluded 
to  the  matter,  and  of  course  I  have  asked  no  ques 
tions.  But  how  was  this  untimely  visit  to  the  safe 
discovered?  I  have  never  mentioned  it  before  to  a 
living  soul ;  and  it  is  not  probable  that  Kenneth  has 
spoken  of  it." 

"  Tom  Bradshaw  pretends  't  he  was  told  on't ;  but 
H  15 


I/O 


EXPIATION. 


it's  my  private  opinion  that  he  was  a-prowling  round 
where  he  hadn't  no  call  to  be,  and  peeked  in  through 
the  winder.  It's  just  like  him,  for  all  the  world." 

She  hesitated  a  moment,  and  then  looked  at  me 
with  a  new  trouble  in  her  rugged,  yet  kindly,  face. 
"  That  feller's  hanging  round  Clyde  too  much  lately, 
Miss  Rossiter,  and  'tain't  for  no  good.  I've  been 
wanting  to  speak  to  you  about  it  for  a  fortnight." 

Around  Clyde  !  What  now  ?  "  But  how  does  he 
manage  it  ?  I  should  not  think  Kenneth  would  allow 
him  to  come  on  the  premises,  if  he  has  such  a  spite 
against  the  Armstrongs." 

"  Mercy !  I  don't  suppose  Kenneth  has  the  least 
idea  of  it.  He  don't  hear  much  of  the  gossip  that's 
going  on,  now  I  tell  you.  Tom's  got  a  dreadful 
wheedling  kind  of  a  way  with  him,  and  he  just  pulls 
the  wool  right  over  Clyde's  eyes,  making  believe  that 
he's  so  wonderful  interested  in  his  ponies  and  chick 
ens  and  things.  It's  all  gammon,  the  whole  on't. 
Kenneth  don't  see  much  of  him,  anyway.  He  kind 
o'  hangs  round  out  o'  sight,  and  watches,  and  then 
slips  into  the  green-house  when  Clyde's  by  himself. 
I've  seen  him  there  lots  o'  times  lately,  and  it  means 
mischief,  just  as  sure  as  my  name's  Patsy." 

"  But  what  kind  of  mischief,  Patsy  ?  I  am  not  sure 
that  I  get  your  idea." 

"  He  means  to  make  trouble  between  them  two 
brothers,"  said  Patsy,  with  a  jerk  of  her  head.  "  He 
wouldn't  want  no  better  fun.  Miss  Rossiter '' 

I  waited  for  her  to  go  on,  but  here  she  hesitated. 
So  after  a  little  I  said,  "  Well,  what  is  it,  Patsy  ?" 

"  I  want  to  ask  something,  and  I  don't  know  as 


EXPIA  TION. 


I/I 


I've  any  right  to.  But  you  know  I  set  e'en  a'most 
as  much  by  them  boys  as  if  they  was  my  own." 

"  You  may  ask  me  just  what  you  please,  Patsy.  I 
shall  not  misjudge  your  motives." 

"  Of  course  you  ain't  bound  to  say  nothing  if  you 
don't  want  to,"  she  remarked,  with  a  considerate  air. 
"  My  asking  hain't  nothing  to  do  with  your  answering. 
But  I've  been  worrying,  for  a  spell  back,  about  them 
and  this  Elsie  Meredith ;"  turning  round  with  an 
expression  that  seemed  to  say,  "  Now,  if  you  think 
I'm  a  fool,  why,  say  so !" 

"  Why  have  you  worried  ?"  I  asked.  "  Would  not 
the  old  house  be  brighter  and  happier  if  there  was  a 
sweet  young  mistress  there  to  bring  sunshine  into  the 
vacant  rooms  and  fill  them  with  life  and  joy?  It 
would  not  make  much  difference  with  you,  Patsy,  for 
I  imagine  she  would  not  care  to  make  any  violent 
changes  in  your  department." 

Her  face  flushed  hotly. 

"  For  the  land  sakes !  I  hope  you  didn't  think  I 
meant  that.  I  wa'n't  a-looking  out  for  number  one. 
But  I  tell  you  what,  Miss  Rossiter,"  dropping  her 
voice  to  a  lower  key,  "  I  knew  two  brothers,  once, 
who  both  fell  in  love  with  the  same  girl,  and  there 
was  the  worst  kind  of  a  row." 

I  did  not  answer  her :  I  was  thinking.  Very  soon 
she  went  on, — 

"  Now,  you  needn't  say  nothing,  if  you  don't  want 
to.  But  if  I'm  a  natural  born  fool,  it  would  be  a 
kind  of  comfort  to  know  it!" 

"I  did  think  at  one  time,"  I  said,  "that  Kenneth 
was  attached  to  her.  But  he  has  changed  lately." 


1/2 


EXPIATION. 


"  Kind  o'  cool,  ain't  he  ?  I  thought  so.  It  come 
on  him  all  of  a  sudden,  too.  But  Clyde  he's  in  dead 
earnest.  Now,  if  Kenneth  don't  want  her,  what  does 
he  want  to  act  so  for  ?" 

"Act  how?" 

"Why, — interfering  between  'em.  He's  allus  hang 
ing,  round.  Clyde  don't  have  no  fair  chance  to  do 
his  courting." 

"  How  did  you  learn  all  this  ?"  I  asked,  looking  at 
her  in  some  surprise. 

"  I  ain't  blind  as  a  bat  yet,"  she  answered.  "  I  can 
see  through  a  millstone,  when  there's  a  good  big 
hole  in  it,  if  I  am  nigh  on  to  fifty  year  old.  But,  Miss 
Rossiter,  don't  it  beat  all  how  news  travels  ?  It  does 
seem  as  if  these  boys  couldn't  so  much  as  sneeze 
but  what  the  whole  town  was  a-talking  about  it." 

"  The  village  people  are  not  talking  about  this 
matter  ?" 

"Yes,  they  be.  They've  been  speculating  and 
surmising  all  summer.  First  they  would  have  it 
that  Kenneth  was  a-courting  of  her.  Now  they  say 
she's  given  him  the  mitten,  and  that  Clyde's  the 
favored  one." 

"Oh,  well,"  I  said,  "there  will  be  just  so  much 
gossip  while  the  world  stands.  But  I  supposed  Elsie 
was  much  beloved  in  Altona." 

"  So  she  is.  Folks  ain't  saying  anything  against 
her.  But  they  do  say  that  Kenneth  ain't  doing  just 
right.  They  say  't  he's  determined  that  Clyde  sha'n't 
get  her.  You  see,  Tom  Bradshaw's  made  'em  believe, 
down  there  at  the  Corners,  that  Kenneth  ain't  play 
ing  fair  about  the  property ;  and  it  stands  to  reason, 


EXPIA  TION. 


173 


if  that's  true,  he  don't  want  Clyde  to  get  married  and 
raise  a  family.  Then,  too,  they  think  he's  kind  o' 
like  a  dog  in  the  manger,  and  that  if  he  can't  have 
her  himself,  he's  bound  Clyde  sha'n't.  And  that's 
just  the  way  it  goes." 

This  troubled  me  more  than  I  can  tell  you.  I  did 
not  care  greatly  for  the  gossip  of  the  town ;  and,  be 
sides,  what  right  had  I  to  find  fault  with  those  who 
did  not  know  Kenneth  so  well  as  I  did  ?  Had  not 
some  of  these  very  doubts  and  questionings  come 
up  in  my  own  mind  ? 

But  I  dreaded  the  effect  upon  Clyde's  sensitive, 
easily-disturbed  nature,  if  these  things  came  to  his 
ears.  Tom  Bradshaw  had  powerful  weapons  in  his 
hands,  if  he  chose  to  use  them. 

While  I  sat  in  a  brown  study,  crushing  the  with 
ered  grass  beneath  the  toe  of  my  boot,  Patsy  laid  her 
hand  upon  my  arm. 

"  Miss  Rossiter,  I'm  real  troubled,  or  I  wouldn't 
ha'  come  to  you.  I've  been  a-beating  about  the  bush 
this  whole  during  time;  but  the  truth  o'  the  business 
is,  that  I  believe  this  leaven  o'  Tom  Bradshaw's  has 
begun  to  work  a'ready;  and  it'll  leaven  the  whole 
lump  before  we  know  it." 

"Why  do  you  believe  so?" 

"  Oh,  things  don't  go  on  to  our  house  a  bit  as 
they  used  to.  Them  two  boys  used  to  seem  so  happy 
together.  To  be  sure,  Clyde  would  make  a  rumpus 
once  in  awhile ;  but  Kenneth  could  manage  him  just 
as  easy,  and  bring  him  around  after  a  little ;  and 
then  he'd  be  just  as  good  as  pie  for  a  spell.  But  now 
there's  something  wrong  all  the  time.  It  seems  as  if 


174 


EXPIATION. 


the  air  was  chock  full  o'  thunder  and  lightning,  and 
you  got  a  clap  right  in  your  face  and  eyes  afore  you 
knew  it." 

"  Patsy,  tell  me  one  thing.  You  don't  doubt 
Kenneth  ?  These  things  don't  shake  your  faith  in 
him?" 

"  Shake  it  ?  No,  sir !  not  a  mite  !  I  don't  go  back 
on  my  friends  quite  so  easy.  I  calculate  to  swear  by 
Kenneth  Armstrong  just  as  long  as  I  live,  right  or 
wrong;  and  I'm  sorry  if  anything  I've  said  has  made 
you  think  otherwise.  I'm  willing  to  walk  by  faith 
and  not  by  sight,  sometimes,  according  to  Scriptur'." 
Tears  sprang  to  the  keen  gray  eyes,  and  Patsy 
furtively  wiped  them  with  the  corner  of  her  apron. 
"  I've  felt  as  if  I  wanted  to  be  a-praying  for  them 
boys  all  this  week,"  she  went  on,  with  a  half  sob  ; 
"  and  I  should,  if  I'd  only  been  a  professor  !  But  as 
'twas,  I  s'posed  my  prayers  wouldn't  amount  to  much. 
Leastways,  that  seemed  to  be  about  the  p'int  o'  Mr. 
Eldridge's  last  sermon." 

"  When  a  heart  that  is  troubled  goes  to  God  to  lay 
its  burden  at  his  feet,"  I  said,  "  I  don't  believe  he 
stops  to  ask  whether  it  is  the  heart  of  a  '  professor' 
or  not.  He  '  giveth  to  all  men  liberally,  and  upbraideth 
not.'  So  we  may  both  ask  him  to  help  those  who 
need  help,  Patsy." 

"  Well,  it's  time  for  me  to  be  a-going,"  said  she, 
rising.  "  I've  got  sponge  to  set  to-night.  Miss  Ros- 
siter,  it  does  women  lots  o'  good  to  talk  over  their 
troubles;  now,  don't  it  ?  I  feel  better  a'ready,  though 
there  ain't  no  airthly  reason  why  I  should." 


EXPIATION. 


175 


CHAPTER    XVI. 

PATSY  was  right ;  the  leaven  was  working. 

Now,  Tom  Bradshaw  was  not  a  deliberately  bad 
man.  Indeed,  I  may  as  well  say  right  here  that  there 
will  be  no  villain  in  this  story.  I  am  not  writing  a 
romance.  I  am  only  telling  you  about  the  Arm 
strongs,  and  the  experiences,  some  strange  and  some 
sad,  that  we  had  in  common.  So  I  cannot  manufac 
ture  my  own  materials  ;  and  we  were  average  people 
up  in  Altona.  None  of  us  were  very  good  or  very 
bad.  As  Patsy  used  to  say,  we  were  "just  about 
middling."  The  very  worst  of  us  were  not  all  bad ; 
and  as  for  the  best  of  us, — ah,  well ! — even  Kenneth 
and  Elsie  and  my  beloved  Patsy  were  not  quite 
perfect.  They  were  only  mortals,  after  all. 

No,  Tom  Bradshaw  was  not  a  villain.  He  was 
envious  and  conceited  and  narrow ;  lazy  too,  and 
fond  of  loitering  about  with  open  eyes  and  ears 
wherever  he  might  see  or  hear  some  new  thing. 
He  was  apt  to  lay  his  meddling  fingers  upon  matters 
that  did  not  concern  him,  and,  with  a  mischievous 
tongue  to  help  him,  he  had  succeeded  in  doing  more 
harm  in  the  world  than  many  a  worse  man  has  been 
able  to  accomplish. 

He  was  a  self-deceiver  also, — unable  to  read  the 
secrets  of  his  own  heart,  or  to  sound  its  subtle  depths. 
I  presume  he  had  not  the  slightest  idea  that  a 
settled  dislike  to  Kenneth  was  the  real  root  of  his 


176 


EXPIA  TION. 


sudden  interest  in  Clyde.  Probably  he  had  no  delib 
erate,  avowed  intention  of  making  trouble  between 
the  brothers.  Clyde  was  innocent  and  unsuspecting. 
He  was  younger  than  Kenneth,  who  was  only  a  half- 
brother,  after  all,  and  had  seen  much  less  of  the 
world.  Somebody  ought  to  put  him  on  his  guard 
and  tell  him  to  take  care  of  his  own  interests.  Even 
brothers  were  not  always  to  be  trusted.  That  was 
all  he  was  going  to  do.  It  was  merely  a  praise 
worthy  effort  to  help  his  neighbor. 

So  when  he  began,  as  he  did,  to  instill  his  venom 
ous  poison  into  Clyde's  ears,  drop  by  drop,  I  do  not 
doubt  that  he  flattered  himself  he  was  doing  God 
service.  Men  have  so  flattered  themselves  many  a 
time,  when  they,  have  been  doing  devil's  work  for 
devil's  wages. 

I  began  to  long  for  Dr.  Bellinger's  return.  Elsie 
had  not  been  placed  directly  in  my  charge.  I  was 
not  responsible  for  her  sayings  and  doings.  She  had 
passed  the  period  of  tutelage,  and  was  a  woman^ 
capable  of  thinking  and  acting  for  herself.  But  in  a 
certain  degree  I  felt  myself  responsible  for  her  happi 
ness.  She  had  been,  all  through  the  summer  months, 
so  bright,  so  joyous,  so  full  of  love  for  all  created 
things, — the  very  incarnation  of  hopeful,  happy  girl 
hood.  Now,  as  I  saw  her  day  by  day  growing  paler, 
stiller,  sadder,  more  reserved,  keeping  herself  to  her 
self,  and  giving  me  fewer  and  fewer  glimpses  of  her 
true  life,  her  inner  life,  it  gave  me  the  keenest  pain. 
She  seldom  mentioned  Kenneth's  name  now.  I  knew 
that  he  was  a  riddle,  an  embodied  mystery,  to  her. 
She  saw  him  often,  it  is  true  ;  Clyde  would  come,  and 


EXPIA  TION. 


177 


if  Kenneth  did  not  come  with  him,  he  was  sure  to 
follow  in  five  minutes.  For  her  sake  I  regretted  this 
most  deeply.  There  was  no  real  intercourse  between 
them,  and  I  knew  his  presence  was  a  torture.  To 
her  ?  Yes ;  and  to  him  also.  Underneath  all  the 
studied  coolness,  the  gentlemanly  reserve,  I  counted 
the  very  throbbings  of  his  heart,  and  knew  that  he 
was  torturing  himself  as  well  as  her. 

Very  needlessly,  too,  I  thought.  If  his  design  was 
to  prevent  Clyde  from  making  an  avowal  of  love  to 
Elsie,  if  he  meant  so  to  manage  matters  that  he 
should  have  no  private  interviews  with  her,  I  felt 
that  he  might  as  well  give  it  up.  That  Clyde's 
love  should  find  open  expression  ere  long,  seemed 
a  foregone  conclusion.  Not  that  Elsie,  consciously, 
gave  him  any  encouragement.  I  think  she  was  so 
absorbed  in  the  effort  to  take  care  of  her  own  heart, 
and  in  trying  to  understand  the  sudden  change  in 
Kenneth,  that  she  was  totally  unaware  when  Clyde 
passed  the  border  land  of  friendship  and  entered  the 
enchanted  domain  of  love.  She  did  not  see  that  his 
eyes  were  opened,  and  that  henceforth  there  was  for 
him  a  new  heaven  and  a  new  earth.  His  devotion 
was  very  sweet  to  her,  and  helped  her  to  bear  Ken 
neth's  coldness.  But  she  did  not  translate  it  aright, 
— she  did  not  give  it  its  true  meaning. 

By  this  time  November  had  worn  away, — not 
flown  away,  as  the  summer  months  had  done, — and 
it  was  the  ist  of  December.  Matty  had  been  to 
the  post-office,  and  returned,  bringing  a  letter  with  a 
foreign  postmark  for  Elsie. 

Her  eye  brightened  as  she  broke  the  seal  and 
H* 


178  EXPIATION. 

glanced  down  the  first  page.  "Uncle  Howard  is 
coming,"  she  said.  "  He  will  be  here  in  Altona  three 
weeks  from  to-day.  He  sailed  from  Queenstown  on 
the  25th." 

That  was  good  news.  It  was  better  that  Elsie 
should  go  away ;  better  for  her  and  better  for  my 
other  two. 

The  next  morning,  as  we  were  at  breakfast,  she 
said, — 

"  Aunt  Margaret,  do  not  speak  of  Uncle  Howard's 
letter.  I  will  just  pack  my  trunks  and  slip  away 
quietly  when  he  comes.  I  hate  leave-takings." 

Two  or  three  days  after  this,  I  met  Kenneth  just 
outside  the  gate. 

"  Miss  Rossiter,"  he  said,  abruptly,  "  when  is  Miss 
Meredith  going  back  to  New  York  ?" 

"  Before  a  very  great  while,  probably,"  I  answered. 
"  You  know  her  uncle,  when  he  went  away,  expected 
to  return  some  time  in  December." 

He  did  not  say,  "  Thank  God  !"  but  he  looked  it, — 
looked  it  so  plainly  that  on  the  impulse  of  the  moment 
I  said,  half  impatiently, — 

"  Kenneth  Armstrong,  if  you  love  Elsie  Meredith, 
— and  you  gave  us  all  reason  at  one  time  to  suppose 
you  did, — why  do  you  not  tell  her  so  like  a  man  ? 
And  if  you  do  not  care  for  her,  why  do  you  not  keep 
away  from  her?  You  torture  her,  and  you  torture 
yourself,  and  you  torture  Clyde." 

He  turned  white  as  a  sheet, — white  to  the  very  lips. 
But  my  heart  was  hardened  against  him  that  day,  for 
I  had  been  mentally  contrasting  the  Elsie  I  had  just 
left  in  my  little  parlor — a  quiet,  saddened  woman — 


EXPIA  TION. 


179 


with  the  fair  young  Elsie  who  but  two  months  before 
I  had  watched  in  her  bright,  conscious  loveliness,  as 
she  stood  at  her  mirror  adorning  herself  for  his  sake. 
So  I  had  no  pity  for  him,  but  went  on.  I  fear  I  had 
forgotten  the  rules  I  had  laid  down  for  myself  about 
not  "  interfering"  between  these  three. 

"  I  doubt  if  you  are  doing  right,"  I  said.  "  I  will 
not  pretend  to  be  able  to  read  you.  Sometimes  I 
think  that  you  still  love  her ;  sometimes  I  think  that 
you  do  not.  But  you  have  no  right  to  play  with  her 
heart,  as  a  cat  plays  with  a  mouse.  If,  after  having 
taught  her  to  love  you,  you  do  not  care  for  her,  leave 
her  alone;  keep  out  her  way;  do  not  darken  her 
sunshine  with  your  presence.  Let  Clyde  fight  his 
own  battles." 

There  !  it  was  all  out  now, — what  I  had  been  want 
ing  to  say  for  a  month  past.  I  had  spoken  eagerly, 
impetuously,  in  a  spasjn  of  sudden  heat, — as  I  must 
always  speak  if  I  said  anything  of  that  sort.  I  had 
not  courage  enough  to  lecture  a  bearded  man,  like  the 
one  who  was  looking  down  upon  me,  in  cool  blood. 

A  hand  fell  suddenly  upon  my  arm,  compressing  it 
until  I  shrank  with  pain. 

"  Stop,  Miss  Rossiter !"  he  said,  in  a  low,  intense 
voice.  "  Stop !  You  do  not  know  what  you  are 
talking  about.  You  are  as  one  who  beats  the  air." 

"  I  know  you  have  no  right  to  put  three  people  to 
the  torture  needlessly,"  I  retorted. 

"  Needlessly  ?  Would  to  God  that  it  were  need 
less  !  But,  Miss  Rossiter,  there  is  no  way  of  escape 
for  any  of  us.  If  there  is,  I  have  failed  to  see  it. 
Prayers  and  pleadings  have  been  all  in  vain." 


I  So  EXPIA  TION. 

"  Kenneth,"  I  persisted,  still  thinking  of  the  sweet 
face  whose  memory  blinded  my  eyes  to  the  deathly 
pallor  of  his, — "  Kenneth,  this  seems  to  me  like  sheer 
nonsense.  I  do  not  believe  in  fatalism.  If  we  make 
mistakes,  they  are  seldom  irremediable." 

"  I  have  made  no  mistakes,"  he  answered,  sadly. 
"  I  think  I  have  made  none.  But,  oh  !  aunty,"  and 
here  his  voice  softened,  growing  so  tender  and  be 
seeching  that  I  could  hardly  bear  it,  "  do  not  you 
distrust  me  or  blame  me.  I  cannot  turn  aside  from 
the  path  before  me.  I  did  not  mark  it  out  for  myself; 
I  am  not  treading  it  in  foolhardy  strength  and  con 
fidence.  Miss  Rossiter,  believe  me,  I  am  trying  to 
do  right." 

He  held  out  his  hand,  and  I  placed  mine  within  it 
Yes,  I  would  believe  he  was  "  trying  to  do  right." 
But  I  still  feared  he  was  actuated  by  some  fanciful, 
exaggerated  idea  of  duty  that  would  not  bear  the 
scrutiny  of  clear-eyed  common  sense;  and  I  told 
him  so. 

He  smiled  faintly.  "  Some  time,  perhaps,  you  will 
know  me  better,"  was  all  he  said. 

That  night  Dennis  came  in  in  a  great  hurry. 
"  Thanks  be  to  God,  yer  honor,"  he  exclaimed, 
snatching  off  his  old  felt  hat  with  a  profound  obei 
sance, — "  thanks  be  to  God,  yer  honor,  Patsy  is  in 
great  distress  wid  her  head,  and  she  wants  to  know 
wud  you  be  plased  to  come  over  for  a  bit  ?" 

Now,  one  would  naturally  have  supposed  that 
Dennis  was  giving  thanks  for  poor  Patsy's  distressing 
headache, — which  was  by  no  means  the  case.  It  was 
only  a  way  he  had.  He  was  quite  likely,  in  his  own 


EXP1A  TION.  l  g  i 

behalf,  to  thank  God  for  a  jumping  toothache  in  pre 
cisely  the  same  tone  of  voice  with  which  he  swore  at 
the  boys  who  threw  stones  at  his  hens  and  stole  his 
early  watermelons.  "  Thank  God  !"  was  a  modified 
sort  of  oath  with  him,  much  like  Deacon  Jones's 
innocent  "  by  thunder!" 

"  Yes,"  I  answered  ;  "  I  will  go  to  her  immediately. 
Has  she  been  sick  long  ?" 

"  Indade,  yer  honor,  I'm  not  able  to  state  with  ex 
actness.  But,  accordin'  to  the  best  of  me  abilities,  it 
was  about  three  o'clock  o'  the  afternoon  that  she 
ascinded  to  her  bed-chamber,  and  she  has  not  left  it 
since,  savin'  for  a  few  minutes  to  prepare  the  tay." 

I  found  Patsy  not  dangerously  ill,  but  flushed, 
feverish,  and  suffering  from  neuralgic  pains  in  the 
head  and  face. 

"  I  ain't  a-going  to  be  sick,"  she  said,  with  an  in 
voluntary  groan, las  she  rocked  back  and  forth  with 
both  hands  pressed  to  her  face.  "  I  meant  to  fight  it 
out  and  say  nothing  to  nobody.  But  the  pain  kept 
a-growing  wuss  and  wuss,  and  I  thought  maybe 
'twould  kind  o'  ease  off  if  you'd  come  and  sit  here 
where  I  could  look  at  you  for  a  spell." 

"  You  must  not  look  at  me  at  all,"  I  said.  "  You 
must  undress  and  go  right  to  bed.  Doesn't  the  room 
feel  chilly  ?  Why  haven't  you  a  fire  in  this  bright 
little  stove  ?  or  do  you  keep  it  for  ornament  ?" 

She  laughed,  but  presently  covered  her  face,  and 
began  to  moan  again.  I  found  plenty  of  dry 
wood  in  her  wood-box,  and  had  soon  rekindled 
the  fire,  which  in  her  heat  and  feverishness  she  had 
neglected. 

16 


!g2  EXPIATION. 

"Now,"  I  said,  "you  must  go  straight  to  bed, 
while  I  go  down  to  the  kitchen  and  make  some  mus 
tard-plasters  and  get  you  a  cup  of  hot  tea." 

She  protested,  but  I  went.  Her  kitchen  and  pantry 
were  like  wax-work  for  neatness,  as  usual.  Dennis 
was  out  in  the  wash-room,  regaling  himself  with  his 
pipe  and  a  newspaper.  I  saw  nothing  of  the  two 
young  masters  of  the  establishment. 

"  Dennis,"  I  said,  "go  over  toCozytoft,  quietly,  and 
tell  Matty  I  shall  stay  here  to-night,  and  ask  her  to 
send  me  the  wrapper  that  hangs  in  my  closet." 

When  I  went  up-stairs  again,  I  told  Patsy  what  I 
had  done.  She  demurred  at  first,  urging  that  it  was 
unnecessary,  but,  finding  that  remonstrances  were 
useless,  gratefully  acknowledged,  at  last,  that  she  had 
dreaded  the  long,  lonely  night. 

"  I  shall  take  a  pillow  and  blanket,"  I  said,  "  and 
lie  here  on  the  lounge,  and  if  you  need  anything  I 
shall  be  near  at  hand.  Now,  turn  over  and  try  to  go 
to  sleep  while  your  face  is  a  little  easier.  I  will  sit 
up  awhile  and  attend  to  the  fire.  What  have  you  to 
read  up  here, — anything  ?" 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  "  there's  a  lot  o'  magazines  and 
things  on  the  closet-shelf;  I've  got  through  reading 
'em,  and  was  calculating  to  take  'em  down-stairs  and 
put  'em  away  to-day.  It's  lucky  J  didn't." 

What  do  you  think  I  found  on  the  shelf?  The 
New  York  Ledger,  and  diluted  literature  in  the  shape 
of  weak  "  Ladies'  Magazines"  ?  By  no  means.  There 
was  a  well-thumbed  volume  of  Macaulay's  Essays, 
and  two  or  three  other  books  of  that  ilk,  and  sundry 
odd  numbers  of  "  Putnam"  for  1855.  Patsy  had  really 


EXPIA  TION. 


183 


read  much  and  thought  much.  She  chose  strong 
meat  for  her  diet,  not  "  milk  for  babes." 

But  I  was  not  quite  equal  to  the  Essays  that  night, 
so  I  took  one  of  the  magazines,  and  was  soon  ab 
sorbed  in  that  strange  story,  "  My  Three  Conversa 
tions  with  Miss  Chester." 

Patsy  was  restless,  uneasy,  and  groaned  heavily  in 
her  fitful  sleep.  Two  hours  passed,  and  I  still  sat 
there  reading,  though  my  watch  pointed  to  half-past 
eleven.  At  last  she  threw  the  covering  from  her 
shoulders  with  an  energetic  air. 

"  It's  no  use,"  she  said;  "  I  may  as  well  get  up  and 
play  it's  morning.  This  pain  drives  me  'most  crazy." 

"  No,  no,"  I  answered:  "you  will  take  cold  if  you 
get  up.  But  isn't  there  something  else  that  we  can 
try  ?  You  are  a  good  nurse,  Patsy ;  tell  me  what  to 
do  for  you." 

"If  it  wa'n't  so  much  trouble,"  she  said.  "Some 
times  it  works,  and  then  again  it  don't ;  but  anyhow, 
I  guess  we  won't  try  it  to-night,  it's  such  a  fuss." 

"  But  what  is  it  ?     Tell  me  that,  Patsy." 

"  It's  an  onion,  roasted  in  the  ashes,"  she  said. 
"  That  used  to  be  mother's  sovereignest  cure  for  the 
faceache, — bound  on,  you  know,  piping  hot.  But 
there  ain't  no  sense  bothering  with  it  to-night.  Patsy's 
tough,  and  I  guess  she  can  stand  it." 

"  Where  are  the  onions  ?" 

"  Oh,  there  ain't  any  up  out  o'  the  cellar,  Miss 
Rossiter.  Now,  you  just  hold  on." 

But  I  took  the  lamp  and  started  off  in  pursuit  oi 
the  "  sovereignest  cure." 

I  had  on  light  slippers,  and  stole  noiselessly  about 


184  EXPIATION. 

the  house  for  fear  of  disturbing  the  other  sleepers. 
There  was  a  good  bed  of  hot  ashes  in  the  kitchen 
stove,  in  which  I  speedily  buried  my  onion,  and  sat 
down  to  wait  for  it. 

i 

As  I  sat  there  meditating  upon  Patsy's  case,  it 
occurred  to  me  that  there  was,  or  used  to  be,  a  bottle 
of  laudanum  in  a  certain  cupboard,  and  that  it  might 
be  well  for  me  to  get  it  to  use  in  case  of  emergency. 

The  dining-room  was  separated  from  the  kitchen 
by  a  narrow  passage.  Between  it  and  the  library  was 
a  small  room,  to  which  I  have  taken  my  reader  be 
fore,  in  which  the  safe  was  kept.  In  that  room  was 
the  cupboard ;  and  thitherward  I  went  in  pursuit  of 
the  laudanum. 

The  doors  between  these  rooms  were  open,  as  was 
usually  the  case.  So  was  the  one  from  the  library 
into  the  hall.  As  I  stood  at  the  cupboard,  taking 
down  bottle  after  bottle  in  search  of  the  right  one,  I 
was  startled  by  a  stealthy  tread  upon  the  stairs,  and 
a  sudden  glow  of  light  upon  the  library  wall. 

Startled,  not  because  I  was  frightened, — what  was 
there  to  be  afraid  of? — but  because,  as  was  but  nat 
ural  at  that  hour  of  the  night,  I  was  in  an  unpresent 
able  deshabille.  It  was  one  of  the  young  gentlemen, 
probably,  on  his  way  to  the  kitchen  for  a  glass  of 
water.  Without  a  moment's  reflection,  I  put  out  my 
light  and  drew  back  into  the  corner  behind  the 
dining-room  door,  thinking  to  remain  there  quietly 
till  the  intruder  had  accomplished  his  errand  and 
gone  up-stairs  again. 

The  door  swung  open  inward,  so  that  I  was  still  in 
the  "  safe-room,"  as  we  called  it.  The  stealthy  tread 


EXPIA  TION. 


I85 


drew  nearer  and  nearer,  but  it  did  not  pass  through 
the  room,  as  I  had  planned.  It  paused  just  in  the 
range  of  my  vision,  and  Clyde  knelt  down  before  the 
safe  and  applied  a  key  that  he  held  in  his  hand  to  the 
lock. 

My  heart  stopped  beating.  What  did  this  mean  ? 
Kenneth,  I  knew,  always  carried  the  key  of  the  safe : 
he  had  done  so  ever  since  his  father  died.  No  one 
but  him  had  ever  unlocked  it  since  that  time,  and 
many  of  the  papers  had  never  been  disturbed,  but 
lay  just  where  they  were  placed  by  the  elder  Mr. 
Armstrong's  own  hands.  Why  was  Clyde  there  at 
the  dead  of  night? 

I  could  see  his  face  distinctly.  It  wore  an  eager, 
excited  look,  flushing  and  paling  by  turns;  yet  it 
was  stern  and  determined,  even  while  his  hand  trem 
bled  so  that  it  was  with  difficulty  he  adjusted  the 
key  to  the  wards  of  the  lock.  But  he  succeeded  at 
last,  and  the  bolt  flew  back  with  a  sharp  click. 

There  was  another  door,  however,  and  still  another, 
to  be  unlocked  before  he  could  reach  the  particular 
portion  of  the  safe  in  which  important  documents 
were  kept ;  and  each  of  them  was  to  be  opened  in 
a  different  way.  Clyde  was  not  familiar  with  the 
process,  and  it  took  him  some  time.  I  should  have 
said  that  I  stood  there  behind  the  door,  trembling  like 
a  leaf  with  excitement  and  strange  dread,  for  full  half 
an  hour  before  he  succeeded  in  opening  the  three 
doors.  Probably  it  was  not  five  minutes. 

The  light  fell  full  upon  his  face  as  he  leaned  for 
ward  and  with  eager  fingers  began  searching  among 
the  papers.  Most  of  them  were  labeled,  and  he 

1 6* 


EXPIATION. 


merely  glanced  at  them,  and  laid  them  back  again. 
At  length  I  thought  Jie  looked  disheartened  and  dis 
couraged.  The  stimulus  of  success  was  wanting,  and 
he  threw  quick  glances  over  his  shoulder,  as  if  afraid 
of  his  shadow.  Evidently  he  had  failed  to  find  what 
he  was  looking  for. 

In  one  corner  of  the  safe,  deep  in  shadow,  stood  a 
small  chest  or  box,  fastened  with  a  spring  lock.  It 
caught  Clyde's  roving  eye  at  last,  and  he  pounced 
upon  it,  bringing  it  forward,  and  placing  it  upon  the 
carpet  at  his  feet,  while  his  features  worked  strangely. 
Here  doubtless  was  the  object  of  his  search  ;  but  it 
was  still  out  of  reach,  for  he  had  not  the  key  to  the 
box. 

He  examined  the  lock,  shook  it,  beat  upon  the  lid 
with  his  hand.  But  it  resisted  all  such  idle  cajoler 
ies.  Then  from  the  depths  of  one  of  his  pockets  he 
produced  a  bunch  of  keys,  and  tried  one  after  another- 
The  very  last  one  upon  the  ring  fitted,  and  he  raised 
the  cover. 

A  smothered  but  triumphant  "ha,  ha!"  burst 
involuntarily  from  his  lips  as  he  seized  an  envelope 
that  lay  within,  and  held  it  up  to  the  light.  I  knew 
it  in  an  instant.  It  was,  of  course,  the  very  one  that 
Kenneth  had  sealed  and  directed  on  that  never-to-be- 
forgotten  night  when  Mr.  Armstrong  left  us. 

But  just  then,  before  he  had  broken  the  seal,  I 
became  aware  by  some  subtle  instinct  —  for  I  could 
not  see  him  —  that  Kenneth  had  entered  the  library. 
Clyde  felt  his  presence,  too,  and  turned  with  a  low 
cry  of  anger  and  dismay,  that  was  almost  like 
the  snarl  of  an  animal  balked  of  its  prey,  just  in 


EXPIATION. 


I87 


time  to  meet  his  cool  gray  eyes  as  he  crossed  the 
threshold. 

As  Kenneth  caught  sight  of  the  envelope  in  Clyde's 
hand,  his  cheeks  blanched,  and  his  lips  were  com 
pressed  until  only  a  thread  of  crimson  was  visible. 
Stepping  quickly  forward,  before  his  brother  had  time 
to  resist  him,  he  quietly  removed  the  paper  from  his 
grasp  and  thrust  it  into  his  own  bosom.  But  as 
Clyde  sprang  to  his  feet  with  a  muttered  oath,  and 
confronted  him  with  blazing  eyes  and  the  front  of 
Mars  himself,  he  spoke  to  him  as  calmly  and  kindly, 
and  with  a  manner  as  free  from  heat  and  passion,  as 
if  they  had  been  training  vines  together  in  the  con 
servatory. 

The  brothers  had  evidently  both  been  in  bed. 
They  shared  the  same  room ;  and  doubtless,  while 
Kenneth  slept,  Clyde  had  stolen  down  to  prosecute 
his  investigations.  But  he  had  not  been  rapid  enough 
in  his  movements,  and  Kenneth's  vigilance  had 
thwarted  him. 

"  What  are  you  doing,  Clyde  ?"  he  asked,  quietly. 
"  I  am  astonished  to  find  you  here  at  this  hour  of 
the  night.  Where  did  you  get  the  key  ?" 

"In  your  pocket,  sir!"  cried  Clyde,  wrathfully. 
"  You  need  not  look  at  me  in  that  way.  I  am  no 
thief  or  meddler.  My  right  to  my  father's  papers  is 
as  good  as  yours.  I  ask  no  leave  or  license  of  you 
to  open  this  safe." 

"  I  am  sorry  you  took  all  this  unnecessary  trouble," 
said  Kenneth,  very  gently.  "  You  have  not  dealt 
fairly  with  me,  Clyde.  You  have  never  given  me 
the  slightest  hint  that  you  wished  to  examine  these 


!88  EXPIATION. 

papers.  I  would  have  opened  the  safe  for  you  any 
day.  I  will  look  them  all  over  with  you  to-morrow, 
if  you  wish." 

"  All  ?  all  ?  Will  you  show  me  the  one  that  you 
snatched  from  me, — the  one  you  have  in  your 
bosom  ?"  he  cried,  with  an  intensity  of  passion  that 
I  cannot  describe  to  you.  "  That  is  the  one  I  want : 
the  only  one  I  care  for;  the  one  you  brought  here 
the  night  our  father  died, — even  before  he  was  cold, 
and  before  you  had  come  to  me  in  my  agony  and 
told  me  he  was  dead.  Why  have  you  never  spoken 
to  me  of  that  paper,  Kenneth  Armstrong  ?  There 
should  be  no  such  secrets  between  brothers.  If  all 
your  dealings  have  been  open  and  fair  and  honest, 
why  have  you  not  told  me  of  its  existence  ?" 

"  '  Open  and  fair  and  honest' !  What  do  you  mean, 
Clyde  ?"  cried  Kenneth,  for  once  thrown  off  his 
balance.  "  Who  has  been  poisoning  you  against 
me  ?  Who  told  you  about  this  paper  ?  I  have  never 
mentioned  it  to  a  living  soul." 

"  That's  the  very  thing  I  complain  of,"  said  Clyde, 
tauntingly.  "  You  should  have  mentioned  it.  Am 
I  not  John  Armstrong's  son  ?  What  right  have  you 
to  his  papers  that  I  do  not  possess  also  ?  I  will  see 
that  document,  Kenneth.  If  you  will  not  show  it  to 
me  of  your  own  free  will,  the  law  shall  compel  you 
to  do  so." 

"  You  are  beside  yourself,  Clyde.  That  paper  is 
one  of  which  the  law  can  take  no  cognizance.  It 
has  nothing  to  do  with  it.  You  have  nothing  to  do 
with  it.  It  belongs  solely  to  me ;  given  to  me  by 
my  father's  own  hand.  I  placed  it  here  for  safe-keep- 


EXPIATION. 


189 


ing,  as  he  told  me  to  ;  but  it  has  no  connection  what 
ever  with  the  papers  relating  to  the  estate." 

"  What  is  it,  then  ?"  said  Clyde,  with  smothered 
fury  in  his  tones.  "  What  is  it  ?  Do  you  expect  me 
to  believe  this  mysterious  story  without  any  proof 
of  its  truth  ?  Do  you  mean  to  say  that  the  paper 
you  have  kept  concealed  so  long  is  not — our  father's 
will  ?" 

"  Oh,  Clyde  !  Clyde  !"  cried  Kenneth,  "  how  can 
you  be  so  cruel  to  me,  so  unjust  to  your  better  self? 
Our  father's  will  ?  He  made  none,  Clyde.  We  two 
were  all  he  had,  and  he  wished  that  there  should  be 
no  division  of  the  estate.  '  It  is  all  yours  and  Clyde's/ 
he  said  that  night.  '  There  are  no  debts.  You  two 
are  my  natural  heirs,  and  all  I  have  is  yours.'  Was 
not  that  enough  ?  He  loved  us  both  so  tenderly ; 
and  he  wished  us  to  live  together,  bound  by  closest 
ties,  with  one  roof  to  shelter  us,  until  the  day  of  our 
death.  This  was  the  last  wish  that  he  expressed.  But 
we  thwart  his  will  as  entirely  by  living  in  a  state  of 
discord  as  we  should  by  parting  ourselves  asunder  as 
far  as  the  east  is  from  the  west.  Oh,  Clyde,  be  satisfied, 
and  trust  me  even  as  he  did !" 

But  Clyde's  face  did  not  soften.  "  It  all  rests  with 
yourself,"  he  said.  "  Show  me  that  paper,  and  I  will 
be  satisfied.  There  can  have  been  no  secrets  between 
our  father  and  you  in  which  I  am  not  concerned. 
The  idea  is  preposterous.  I  demand  equal  knowledge 
with  yourself  as  to  the  contents  of  that  paper;  and 
as  sure  as  there  is  a  God  in  heaven  I  will  have  it. 
You  cannot  thwart  me  always,  strong  as  you  think 
yourself." 


EXPIATION. 

Clyde's  first  fury  had  subsided.  As  he  made  this 
demand,  with  his  clear,  undaunted  eyes  fixed  upon 
Kenneth's  pale  face,  I  thought  I  had  never  seen  such 
dignity  and  grandeur  in  his  bearing.  Whether  he 
was  right  or  wrong  in  his  suspicions,  it  was  evident 
that  he  believed  with  all  his  soul  that  he  had  been 
grossly  injured  by  Kenneth,  and,  perhaps,  by  the 
dead  father  who  had  been  so  dear  to  him ;  that  he 
had  indeed  been  "  wounded  in  the  house  of  his 
friends." 

For  a  moment  or;  two  there  was  silence  between 
them.  At  length  Kenneth  said,  returning  Clyde's 
steady  gaze  with  one  equally  steady, — 

"  Clyde,  have  I  ever  lied  to  you  ?" 

There  was  no  answer ;  but  Clyde's  mouth  lost  a 
little  of  its  fixed  rigidity. 

"  Answer  me  truly,  Clyde,  I  implore  you,  by  all  the 
hallowed  memories  of  our  childhood.  Have  I  ever 
lied  to  you  in  all  my  life  long  ?" 

The  reply  was  so  low  as  to  be  scarcely  audible,  but 
it  was  emphatic. 

"  No." 

"  Then,  believe  me,  I  shall  not  begin  now.  I  tell 
you  the  entire  truth,  my  brother,  when  I  say  to  you 
that  I  am  as  ignorant  as  you  of  the  nature  of  the 
paper  that  has  so  disturbed  you.  I  have  never  read 
it.  I  have  never  been  told  what  it  contains." 

Clyde's  countenance  hardened  again.  "  You  can 
not  expect  me  to  believe  that.  It  is  too  absurd, 
too  melodramatic.  The  envelope  is  addressed  in 
your  own  handwriting.  It  is  sealed  with  your  own 
seal.  Now  you  ask  me  to  believe  that  you  know 


EXPIATION.  I9I 

nothing  whatever  of  its  contents.  It  is  too  much 
Kenneth.  My  reason  forbids  me  to  believe  it." 

Kenneth's  face  flushed  hotly,  and  he  laid  his  hand 
heavily  upon  Clyde's  shoulder.  "  You  must  believe 
it,  Clyde.  You  shall  not  leave  this  spot  until  I 
make  you  believe  it.  See  here !"  And  he  took 
the  envelope  from  his  breast.  "  That  is  my  hand 
writing,  is  it  ?  and  that  is  my  seal  ?  Well,  I  own 
it.  I  have  no  thought  of  denying  it.  But  now — 
nay,  take  it  in  your  own  hands  :  I  give  you  full  per 
mission — tear  off  that  envelope  and  see  what  you  will 
find  beneath  it.  Tear  it  off,  I  say !"  he  repeated ;  for 
Clyde,  overawed  by  the  sudden  change  in  his  brother's 
manner,  and  by  his  rapid,  impetuous  speech,  was 
holding  the  envelope  idly  in  his  hand,  and  glancing 
from  it  to  Kenneth's  face  with  anxious,  troubled  eyes. 
"  Tear  it  off,  I  say  !" 

He  was  obeyed  at  last,  but  Clyde's  fingers  trembled 
so  that  they  could  scarcely  perform  their  office. 
Within  the  outer  envelope  was  another,  closely  sealed. 
As  it  met  his  eye,  Clyde  cowered  like  a  whipped  child, 
and  covered  his  face  with  his  hands.  The  paper 
dropped  at  Kenneth's  feet. 

He  picked  it  up,  and  held  it  before  Clyde's  eyes, 
forcibly  removing  his  hands.  But  now  he  spoke 
gently,  even  tenderly. 

"  Whose  handwriting  is  that,  Clyde  ?  Whose  seal 
is  that?  Did  I  forge  the  one  and  surreptitiously  use 
the  other?  You  know  better.  You  know  that  no 
eye  has  seen  the  paper  that  lies  folded  within  this 
envelope  since  our  dead  father's  rested  upon  it  as  he 
placed  it  there.  He  gave  it  to  me  that  night,  Clyde, 


192 


EXPIA  TION. 


sealed  as  you  see  it  now.  He  did  not  tell  me  what  it 
was.  He  only  placed  it  in  my  special  keeping,  and 
told  me  that  if  certain  contingencies  arose  years  hence, 
I  was  at  liberty  to  open  it.  He  told  me  also  to  place 
it  in  another  envelope,  to  direct  it  to  '  Kenneth  Arm 
strong,'  to  seal  it  with  my  own  seal,  and  to  write 
upon  it  an  order  that  in  case  of  my  death  it  should 
be  burned  unopened.  I  obeyed  him  to  the  letter, 
and  at  the  earliest  possible  moment.  You  stand 
here  as  my  judge  to-night,  Clyde.  Did  I  do  right 
or  wrong  ?" 

Clyde  did  not  answer,  but  his  mien  had  lost  all  its 
loftiness,  and  all  its  bravado  as  well.  His  head  drooped 
toward  Kenneth.  The  stronger  nature  was  once 
more  gaining  the  ascendancy  over  the  weaker. 

"  He  did  not  tell  me,  in  so  many  words,  to  keep 
silent  about  the  matter.  But  he  placed  this  trust  in 
my  hands.  Was  I  to  begin  babbling  of  it  at  the  very 
start  ?  Speak  to  me,  Clyde.  This  must  be  settled 
once  for  all.  It  never  must  come  up  between  us  two 
again.  Tell  me,  did  I  do  right  or  wrong  ?" 

Clyde's  lips  moved,  but  no  sound  was  to  be  heard. 
Kenneth  bent  his  head  and  listened  intently. 

"  Answer  me,  Clyde.  This  must  be  settled.  Right 
or  wrong  ?" 

"  Right,"  he  answered,  feebly, — but  he  did  not  lift 
his  eyes  to  his  brother's  face.  It  seemed  as  if  he 
dared  not. 

Kenneth  clasped  him  to  his  heart  in  an  embrace 
that  was  at  once  tender  and  strong.  His  face  was 
radiant  with  joy  ineffable.  Even  so  do  the  angels  in 
heaven  rejoice  over  us  when,  having  been  tempted 


EXPIATION. 


193 


and  misled,  we  turn  again  to  the  friend  that  sticketh 
closer  than  a  brother. 

"  God  bless  you,  Clyde  !"  he  whispered.  "  We  must 
trust  each  other,  we  must  cling  to  each  other,  even 
unto  the  end.  There  is  no  other  salvation  for  us." 

They  stood  silent,  heart  to  heart,  for  a  moment  or 
two.  Then  Clyde  raised  his  head. 

"  Kenneth,"  he  said,  "  I  ought  to  make  amends  for 
suspicions  that  I  now  see  were  a  grievous  wrong  to 
you.  I  wish  I  could  do  something  to  make  you 
very  happy,  to  pay  for  all  this." 

The  dark  gray  eyes  lightened,  and  I  think  he 
spoke  from  a  sudden  impulse  with  which  reason  had 
little  to  do. 

"  Clyde,"  he  said,  "  is  there  not  something  else 
that  has  come  between  us  lately  ?" 

"I — don't  know,"  was  the  faltered  reply.  "What 
is  it?" 

Kenneth  bent  forward  and  whispered  something 
in  Clyde's  ear  that  brought  the  quick  blood  mounting 
to  his  face.  It  was  like  the  leaping  up  of  a  sudden 
flame. 

"  You  have  felt  that  I  came  in  between  you  and 
her,"  he  went  on, — "  that  I  strove  to  keep  you  apart, 
and  to  throw  hindrances  in  your  way.  Is  it  not  so, 
Clyde  ?  And  it  steeled  your  heart  against  me." 

Clyde  gave  one  quick,  passionate  cry  as  he  threw 
himself  again  upon  Kenneth's  breast. 

"  It  did !  it  did  !"  he  cried.   "  I  have  seen  that  my  love 

for  her  was  utterly  distasteful  to  you,  and  that  you 

would  be  glad  to  thwart  it.      But  I  cannot  believe  it 

even  yet,  Kenneth,  when  you  know  her  to  be  what 

i  17 


J94 


EXPIA  TION. 


she  is  !  Indeed,  I  fancied  once,  before  I  dreamed  of 
loving  her  myself,  that  you  might  give  her  to  me  as 
a  sister  some  day.  Oh,  Kenneth,  you  have  put  me 
to  the  torture  1' 

Kenneth  passed  his  hand  tenderly  over  the  thick, 
wavy  locks  that  touched  his  shoulder.  "  My  poor 
Clyde !"  he  murmured ;  "  if  I  could  only  have  spared 
you !" 

Then,  after  a  little,  he  went  on,  speaking  slowly  and 
deliberately,  like  one  who  was,  as  it  were,  feeling  his 
way  through  a  labyrinth  of  perplexing  thought. 

"  I  hoped  that  this  would  prove  to  be  but  a  boyish 
fancy,  Clyde  ;  that  I  could  ward  off  the  danger  from 
you,  and  from  her,  without  the  necessity  of  speaking 
one  word  upon  this  subject.  But  I  have  seen,  lat 
terly,  that  it  was  impossible." 

He  hesitated,— and  when  he  spoke  again  his  voice 
was  .almost  inaudible.  It  was  the  voice  of  one  in 
extremity. 

"  Clyde,  you  said  you  wished  you  could  do  some 
thing  to  make  me  happy.  You  can  lift  from'  my 
heart  the  heaviest  burden  it  has  ever  borne,  if  you  will 
promise  me  never  to  speak  a  word  of  love  to  Elsie 
Meredith." 

Clyde  reeled  in  Kenneth's  arms  like  a  drunken 
man.  "  I  cannot  do  it !"  he  cried.  "  It  is  too  cruel, 
too  unjust,  when  she  is  everything  that  you  ought  to 
honor  and  admire.  I  cannot  give  her  up  to  gratify  a 
mere  caprice  of  yours." 

"  It  is  no  caprice,"  said  Kenneth,  sadly.  "  I  ask 
nothing  for  which. I  have  not  a  reason.  But,  Clyde, 
you  are  very  young  yet;  so  young  that  it  is  hardly  to 


EXPIATION. 


195 


be  believed  that  this  is  the  one  grand  passion  of  your 
life.  If  you  will  be  content  to  leave  the  matter  in 
abeyance  for  awhile,  I  think  this  early  love  of  yours 
will  pass  away  like  a  dream." 

"  It  is  not  so  !  it  is  not  so !"  was  the  answer.  "  You 
know  nothing  about  it,  Kenneth.  You  are  yourself 
so  cold,  so  passionless,  that  you  have  no  conception 
of  what  love  is  when  it  glows  in  a  heart  like  mine. 
Why,  to  win  Elsie  Meredith  I  would  crush  every 
other  hope  beneath  my  feet ;  to  reach  her  I  would 
trample  every  other  heart  in  the  universe  into  the 
dust." 

"  Is  it  so,  my  boy  ?"  asked  Kenneth,  gazing  mourn 
fully  into  the  flashing  yet  tearful  eyes  that  were  up 
turned  to  his.  "  Is  it  so  ?  Then  may  God  help  us 
all !  But,  Clyde,  I. ask  you  to  do  nothing  that  I  have 
not  done  myself.  You  think  me  cold,  passionless, — 
but  you  know  nothing  of  my  life.  Once — it  is  no 
matter  when  or  where — I  placed  my  own  heart 
beneath  my  feet  and  trampled  on  its  dearest,  holiest 
love.  I  had  to  do  it,  Clyde ;  but,  crushed  and  bleed 
ing,  the  love  lives  yet,  and  will  live — eternally." 

Clyde  raised  one  hand  and  passed  it  over  Kenneth's 
face  with  a  woman's  caressing  touch.  "  My  poor 
Kenneth  !"  he  said.  "  But  you — you  are  strong; 
you  are  brave  to  bear  and  to  endure — and — you  do 
not  feel  as  I  do.  We  are  differently  constituted.  I — 
I  could  not  give  up  a  love.  It  would  be  impossible  !" 

"  Not  if  duty  demanded  it?" 

"  Not  if  ten  thousand  duties  stood  in  the  way, 
glaring  at  me  with  their  angry  eyes.  Kenneth,  I  tell 
you  plainly,  and  once  for  all,  no  power  in  heaven  or 


196  EXPIATION. 

on  earth  shall  keep  me  from  marrying  Elsie  Mere 
dith,  if  she  will  be  my  wife." 

Kenneth  bowed  his  head.  Was  it  in  acquiescence 
or  despair  ?  I  could  not  tell  which. 

When  he  spoke  again,  it  was  in  a  hoarse,  changed 
voice. 

"  You  must  go  back  to  bed  at  once,"  he  said. 
"  You  are  fearfully  excited." 

He  paused  for  a  moment,  raising  his  hand  as  in  the 
act  of  benediction.  "  May  God  give  us  his  peace, 
dear  Clyde !"  he  continued.  "  I  begin  to  think  it  a 
better  gift,  and  a  rarer  one,  than  joy :  his  blessed 
peace." 

He  looked  as  if  he  needed  it.  Clyde  glanced  at 
the  open  safe. 

"  Go,"  said  Kenneth.     "  I  will  lock  it." 

But  Clyde  still  hesitated, — lingering  at  his  brother's 
side. 

"  Kenneth,"  he  whispered,  at  last,  "  I  must  take  my 
own  course  in  this  matter, — but  I  shall  never  distrust 
you  again — never !"  t 

"  Until  the  next  time,"  was  the  involuntary  reply. 
"  Well,  I  can  do  no  more,  Clyde.  I  must  leave  you 
in  God's  hands.  Good-night." 

Kenneth  locked  the  safe,  and  pretty  soon  his  feet 
sounded  up  the  stairs,  and  I  was  left  in  darkness. 

I  stole  out  to  the  kitchen,  found  a  match,  and  re 
lighted  my  lamp.  Alas  for  the  poor  onion  !  I  took 
the  remains  of  it  from  the  ashes,  and  went  up  to 
Patsy. 

All  was  quiet,  and  she  was  sleeping  peacefully  in  a 
restful,  health-giving  sleep.  I  did  not  disturb  her,  but 


EXPIA  TION. 


197 


lay  upon  the  lounge  until  the  gray  dawn  shone  dimly 
in  the  east.     Then  I  rose  softly  and  went  home. 

No   one  ever   knew  what  I  saw  and   heard   that 
night.     You,  O  reader,  are  my  first  confidant. 


CHAPTER     XVII. 

I  WONDER  if  it  was  fore-ordained  that  I  should  tell 
this  story?  At  all  events,  my  good  angels  took  care 
that  there  should  be  no  hindrances,  no  broken  links, 
in  case  I  ever  did  tell  it.  If  there  was  a  character  upon 
earth  that  I  regarded  with  utter  detestation,  it  was  that 
of  a  gossiping,  meddling  Paul  Pry,  of  either  sex.  Yet 
it  seemed  as  if  the  persistent  efforts  of  the  most 
malicious  eavesdropper,  the  most  cunning  spy,  would 
not  have  enabled  him  to  hear  and  see  what,  with 
out  any  volition  on  my  part,  was  being  continually 
thrust  upon  me.  Listen  to  what  happened  the  next 
morning. 

About  the  middle  of  the  forenoon  I  went  over  to 
inquire  after  Patsy  and  to  see  if  I  could  help  her  in 
any  way.  We  were  in  the  habit  of  interchanging 
neighborly  kind  offices.  Until  Elsie  came  to  me,  I 
had  kept  no  servant  for  many  years.  Living  by 
myself  in  the  most  convenient  of  cottages,  with  every 
thing  just  where  and  just  as  I  wanted  it,  I  had  found 
it  more  pleasant  to  wait  on  myself  than  to  have  some 
one  continually  in  my  way  to  do  it  for  me.  But 
many  a  time  during  the  years  she  had  lived  at  Grey- 

17* 


198 


EXPIA  TION. 


holt,  when  I  had  not  been  well  or  when  I  had  been 
particularly  busy,  Patsy  had  come  to  the  rescue  with 
her  willing  heart  and  strong  hands.  So  now  I  went 
to  see  what  I  could  do  for  her. 

She  "  slept  like  a  top,"  she  said,  after  I  went  down 
for  the  onion.  The  very  mention  of  her  mother's 
remedy  must  have  cured  her,  for  she  did  not  awake 
until  late  in  the  morning.  But  she  looked  worn  and 
tired.  The  severe  pain  of  the  previous  day  had  told 
even  upon  her  strong  frame,  and  seeing  that  she 
was  about  to  make  some  pastry,  the  materials  for 
which  were  all  ready  upon  the  broad  white  shelf 
beneath  the  pantry  window,  I  insisted  that  she  should 
go  to  her  room  and  lie  down,  while  I  made  the  pies. 
She  consented,  after  much  demurring;  and,  rolling 
up  my  sleeves,  I  was  soon  deep  in  the  mysteries  of 
butter,  flour,  jigging-irons,  and  mince-meat. 

The  blinds  were  closed,  the  slats  being  turned 
enough  to  admit  the  light,  and  the  window  was  let 
down  from  the  top.  It  was  a  bright,  sunny  day.  No 
snow  had  yet  fallen,  excepting  a  few  flakes  that 
melted  as  they  fell.  Snowbirds  and  chickadees  and 
a  few  tame  pigeons  were  hopping  about  the  yard, 
picking  up  the  crumbs  Patsy  had  thrown  to  them,  or 
hunting  among  the  shrubbery  for  seeds  and  insects. 
A  great  peacock  strutted  bravely  in  the  sunshine, 
spreading  his  magnificent  tail  and  calling  upon  his 
whole  small  world  to  admire  him.  A  few  feet  off, 
through  the  glass  windows — or  walls — of  the  con 
servatory,  I  could  see  the  tiny  fountain  throw  up  its 
silver  jets,  and  catch  tantalizing  glimpses  of  dark- 
green  leaves  contrasting  with  brilliant  scarlets,  pure 


EXPIA  TION. 


199 


blues,  warm  oranges,  clear  whites,  and  glowing  crim 
sons.  How  peaceful  and  serene  it  all  seemed  !  It 
was  hard  to  think  that  even  into  this  Eden  the 
serpent  had  entered,  leaving  evil  and  sorrow  behind 
him. 

Just  then,  as,  with  a  plate  poised  upon  one  hand,  I 
was  about  to  cut  the  undercrust  into  its  appointed 
shape,  Kenneth  and  Clyde  came  round  the  corner 
and  stopped  beneath  the  window,  ostensibly  to  watch 
the  birds,  to  whom  they  had  thrown  a  handful  of 
buckwheat.  I  was  about  to  tap  upon  the  pane  with 
my  floury  fingers,  when  I  remembered  that  it  had 
always  seemed  to  annoy  them  if  they  happened  to 
see  me  doing  anything  like  "  housework"  inside  their 
doors.  If  they  had  seen  my  occupation,  they  would 
at  once  have  started  off  in  pursuit  of  a  girl,  saying 
that  if  Patsy  was  not  well  enough  to  do  the  work 
she  must  consent  to  have  more  help;  which  would 
have  broken  her  heart,  as  her  disability  was  not  likely 
to  be  of  long  duration.  So  for  her  sake  I  kept  silent, 
although  I  longed  to  throw  back  the  blinds  and 
threaten  to  make  each  of  them  a  "  turnover"  with 
plenty  of  raisins  in  it. 

They  began  to  talk  presently,  but  in  such  low  tones 
that  I  heard  only  the  murmur  of  their  voices.  I 
rattled  the  dishes,  dropped  a  fork,  and  put  down  the 
flour-pan  with  unnecessary  noise,  in  order  to  convey 
to  them  an  intimation  that  some  one  was  within 
hearing ;  but  gradually  their  tones  grew  more  and 
more  distinct. 

"  I  thought  last  night  that  I  should  never  mention 
this  subject  again,"  said  Kenneth.  "  But,  oh,  Clyde, 


200  EXPIATION. 

I  cannot  help  it.  I  must  make  one  more  effort  to 
save  you." 

"  To  save  me  from  what  ?"  And  there  was  a  sharp 
metallic  ring  in  Clyde's  voice  that  argued  ill  for  the 
cause  his  brother  was  pleading.  "  To  save  me  from 
what  ?  One  would  think  I  were  about  to  throw 
myself  into  the  embraces  of  that  terrible  maiden  we 
read  of  in  the  old  chronicles,  whose  iron  arms  con 
tracted  slowly  about  her  shuddering,  writhing  victims, 
folding  them  closer  and  closer  in  cruel  mockery  of 
love,  until  death  put  an  end  to  their  torment.  To 
save  me  from  what,  Kenneth  ?  Speak  out,  man  !" 

"  From  endless  regret,  and,  it  may  be,  from  the  bit 
terness  of  remorse.  And" — his  voice  faltered,  and  it 
was  a  moment  or  two  before  he  went  on — "  to  save 
her  from  life-long  sorrow." 

"  I  am  willing  to  take  all  the  risks,"  Clyde  answered, 
coolly.  "'Regrets'!  'Remorse'!  Does  a  man 
regret  that  he  has  reached  heaven  ?  Does  conscience 
scourge  him  because  he  is  blest  beyond  his  deserts  ? 
What  do  you  mean,  Kenneth  ?  Do  you  think  me 
about  to  commit  incest,  or  some  horrible  crime  of  a 
kindred  nature  ?  '  A  man  may  not  marry  his  grand 
mother.'  Perhaps  you  have  been  studying  up  the 
genealogies  of  our  respective  families,  and  have  dis 
covered  that  Elsie  Meredith  holds  that  revered  rela 
tionship  to  me  ?"  And  he  laughed  scornfully. 

"  No,  Clyde,"  was  the  answer.  "  Genealogy  does 
not  touch  the  question — in  that  way.  But,  oh,  my 
brother,  I  tell  you  once  again  that  there  are  weighty 
reasons  why  you  should  not  seek  to  make  this  girl  your 
wife.  I  cannot  tell  you  what  they  are.  I  have  sworn 


EXPIATION.  201 

not  to  do  it.  But  for  our  father's  sake,  for  my  sake, 
for  God's  sake,  I  implore  you  to  listen  to  my  warning 
before  it  is  too  late." 

"  Perhaps,  if  you  are  so  deeply  in  earnest,  you  had 
better  try  to  win  the  young  lady  over  to  your  side, 
and  make  an  accomplice  of  her,"  said  Clyde,  sarcas 
tically.  "  If  you  should  appeal  to  her,  your  eloquence 
might  not  fail  of  its  desired  effect." 

"  I  shall  not  do  that,  Clyde.  You  need  not  fear 
that  I  shall  ever  mention  this  matter  to  her.  It  has 
been  hard  enough  to  speak  to  you,  and  to  feel  that 
my  motives  would  probably  be  misunderstood,  and  I 
myself  be  charged  with  cruelty  and  wanton  caprice. 
I  shall  never  speak  of  it  to  her." 

"  I  can  see  but  one  cause  for  your  anxiety  on  this 
point,  Kenneth,"  said  Clyde,  after  a  long  pause.  "  If 
I  were  to  die  without  other  heirs,  this  estate  would 
all  be  yours." 

My  very  heart  stopped  beating.  That  insinuation 
on  Clyde's  part  was  too  cruel.  How  would  Kenneth 
bear  it  ?  But  when  he  spoke  there  was  no  anger,  no 
resentment,  in  his  voice. 

"  You  are  more  likely  to  be  my  heir  than  I  am  to 
be  yours,"  he  said  ;  "  I  shall  go  wifeless  and  childless 
to  my  grave,  Clyde.  There  is  but  little  doubt  of  that ; 
and  assuredly  I  have  never  given  you  reason  to  think 
me  grasping  or  avaricious.  But  what  evil  spirit  has 
taken  possession  of  you,  thus  filling  your  heart  with 
jealousies  and  suspicions  of  your  best  friend  ?  Last 
night  I  thought  I  had  slain  my  dragon ;  but  he  has  a 
thousand  lives." 

"  It  is  your  own  fault,"  was  the  reply.  "  You  never 
i* 


202  EXPIATION. 

will  slay  your  dragon  while  you  deal  in  mysteries. 
If  instead  of  talking  Greek  you  would  express  your 
self  in  plain  English,  I  might  listen  to  you.  But 
you  will  never  frighten  me  with  bug-a-boo  stories — 
or  with  hints  of  stories — that  might  be  told.  Scare 
crows  lost  all  their  terrors  for  me  years  ago.  Tell 
me  why  it  is  that  I  must  not,  or  should  not,  marry 
Elsie  Meredith,  and  I  will  promise, — not  to  give  her 
up,  mind  you, — but  to  take  the  matter  into  fair  con 
sideration." 

Kenneth  drew  a  long  breath  that  was  almost  like  a 
groan.  "  I  cannot  tell  you  that,  Clyde,  although  I 
admit  the  apparent  justice  of  your  demand.  Some 
time,  if  you  are  patient, — or  if  you  are  not, — you  will 
know.  It  may,  perhaps,  be  only  when  you  have 
passed  beyond  the  veil,  and  look  back  upon  this  life 
with  eyes  that  see  clearly  all  its  pitfalls,  all  its  dan 
gers.  You  will  do  me  justice  then,  if  you  cannot 
now." 

The  faltering  voice  touched  Clyde.  It  was  only 
the  surface  of  his  nature,  after  all,  that  had  been  dis 
turbed  by  Tom  Bradshaw's  artful  insinuations.  Away 
down  deep  in  his  heart  there  was  unshaken  confidence 
in  Kenneth.  It  was  the  one  rock  upon  which  he 
leaned.  Do  I  make  you  comprehend  this,  in  the  face 
of  all  his  bitter  words,  his  jealousy  and  distrust? 
Ah !  you  are  happy  indeed,  if  there  has  been  nothing 
in  the  relations  of  your  soul  to  its  best  Friend  that 
can  furnish  the  counterpart  to  this  picture.  We  doubt, 
and  wonder,  and  question,  and  refuse  to  take  God's 
word,  still  demanding  of  him  the  reason  why, — even 
when  we  know  that  he  is  infinitely  wise  and  infinitely 


EX  PI  A  TION. 


203 


tender, — even  when  we  feel  that  our  trust  in  him  is 
our  only  rock  of  refuge. 

"  I  did  not  really  mean  what  I  said  about  the  heir- 
ship,  Kenneth.  It  was  the  echo  of  another's  thought, 
to  which  I  should  not  have  given  expression.  For 
give  me  !" 

I  knew  they  had  clasped  hands,  although  I  could 
not  see  them. 

"  I  can  forgive  you — even  unto  the  seventy  times 
seven,"  said  Kenneth,  at  last.  "  But,  oh,  Clyde,  you 
try  me  sorely,  sorely  ;  and  the  trial  is  renewed  day  by 
day." 

Then,  in  the  pause  that  followed,  a  sudden  thought 
seemed  forced  upon  him. 

" '  The  echo  of  another's  thought,'  you  said. 
Whose  thought,  Clyde  ?  Tell  me  that ;  for  you  owe 
it  to  me." 

But  there  was  no  answer. 

"  Whose  thought  ?"  he  repeated.  "  Who  is  striving 
to  make  mischief  between  you  and  me  ?  It  cannot 
be  Miss  Rossiter.  Yet  she  went  with  me  to  the  safe 
when  I  put  the  paper  there  the  night  our  father  died, 
— and  no  one  else  knew  of  it." 

This  was  the  very  conclusion  to  which  I  had  feared 
he  would  come.  I  had  felt  that  he  had  every  reason 
to  suspect  my  prudence,  my  integrity.  Would  Clyde 
exonerate  me  ?  I  listened  intently. 

"  It  was  not  she,  Kenneth.  Believe  me,  it  was  not 
she  !"  he  answered,  earnestly. 

"  Who  was  it,  then  ?  I  have  a  right  to  demand 
this,  Clyde.  Who  is  it  that  is  striving  to  sow  the 
seeds  of  bitterness  between  us  ?" 


2O4 


EXP1A  T1ON. 


If  Clyde  would  only  tell  him !  But  he  did  not 
He  persistently  refused  to  tell,  and  Kenneth  was  too 
wise  to  press  the  matter  beyond  certain  bounds.  As 
they  passed  from  beneath  the  window,  Clyde  said, — 

"  I  would  make  any  other  sacrifice  to  please  you, 
Kenneth.  I  would  pluck  out  my  right  eye,  or  cut 
off  my  right  hand,  if  you  demanded  it.  But  I  cannot 
give  up  the  chance — it  is  only  a  chance,  for  she  may 
not  listen  to  my  suit — of  winning  Elsie  Meredith. 
Could  you  do  it,  Kenneth  ?  If  you  loved  her  as  I 
do,  could  you  give  up  the  hope  of  one  day  making 
her  your  wife, — the  dear  hope  of  calling  her  yours, 
your  very  own, — without  one  effort  to  woo  and  win 
her  ?  Could  you  do  that,  Kenneth  ?" 

They  had  paused  again,  still  near  the  window,  but 
out  from  the  shadow  of  the  house,  where  the  strong 
sunlight  illumined  the  face  of  each.  Kenneth's 
grew  white,  even  to  the  lips,  while  Clyde  was 
speaking. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  as  with  a  painful  effort.  "  I  could 
do  even  that,  for  your  sake,  Clyde." 

"  Then  you  never  dreamed  what  love  is,"  was  the 
answer.  "  Love  is  a  law  unto  itself.  It  does  not  stop 
to  think  of  duties  and  sacrifices.  It  does  not  weigh 

o 

and  measure.  It  gives  all ;  it  dares  all ;  it  demands 
all.  You  do  not  know  what  love  is,  Kenneth,  and  it 
makes  me  impatient  to  hear  you  talk  about  it." 

"  Perhaps  I  do  not,"  was  the  response,  made  sadly 
and  wearily.  "  Perhaps  I  do  not.  But  we  will  not 
discuss  the  matter.  You  must  take  your  own  course, 
for  I  see  that  no  words  of  mine  are  of  any  avail." 

They  passed  out  of  sight,  and  I  heard  no  more. 


EXPIATION. 


2C>5 


"It  is  a  victory  that  will  have  to  be  won  over 
again  to-morrow,  and  to-morrow,  and  to-morrow." 
This  was  what  Kenneth  had  said  to  me  weeks  ago. 
Surely  events  were  proving  the  truth  of  his  words. 

From  that  day  there  was  a  change  in  Kenneth.  It 
seemed  to  me  that  he  had  ceased  to  struggle,  or,  in 
the  matter  of  Elsie,  to  oppose  his  will  to  Clyde's. 
He  had  done  all,  said  all,  that  he  could.  Henceforth 
affairs  must  take  their  own  course. 

But  there  was  no  bitterness,  no  pharisaical  "  wash 
ing  of  hands"  with  him.  He  was,  if  that  were  pos 
sible,  tenderer  of  Clyde  than  ever.  If  there  was  also 
a  deep,  manly  tenderness  in  his  manner  toward  Elsie, 
she  did  not  seem  to  notice  it.  The  girl  had  taught 
herself  to  looT<  upon  their  past  as  dead  and  buried. 
She  hoped  for  no  resurrection ;  and  if  sometimes 
the  pale  clay  seemed  to  move  a  little,  and  the  grave- 
clothes  in  which  it  was  bound  to  stir,  as  if  there  was 
life  beneath,  she  evidently  regarded  it  as  a  mere 
vagary  of  her  own  imagination.  I  could  see  that  she 
was  fast  teaching  her  heart  to  believe  that  Kenneth 
had  never  cared  for  her. 

And,  meanwhile,  at  the  very  moment  when  her 
sensitive  womanly  pride  was  quivering  with  pain  at 
the  thought  that  she  had  misconstrued  him  and  taken 
for  love  what  had  been  mere  liking ;  when  she  was 
reproaching  herself  for  indulging  in  the  dream  that 
had  brightened  the  summer  days  for  her,  Clyde  came 
to  her,  laying  his  heart  at  her  feet.  Many  a  girl  has 
accepted  one  lover  in  a  fit  of  pique  at  the  desertion 
or  inconstancy  of  another.  Would  Elsie  do  this, — 
thus  striving  to  prove  to  Kenneth  that  she  had  cared 

1 8 


2o6  EXPIA  TION. 

for  him  as  little  as  he  for  her  ?  Or  would  she  really 
be  able  to  transfer  her  affection  from  one  brother  to 
the  other  ? 

I  could  not  tell.  I  think  we  all  sat  with  hushed 
hearts,  waiting — just  waiting — to  see  what  the  days 
would  bring  forth ;  Elsie  as  well  as  the  rest  of  us. 
She  liked  Clyde  Armstrong.  They  had  much  in 
common.  There  was  a  similarity  of  tastes  between 
the  two  that  had  made  them  much  to  each  other  as 
companions  and  friends.  She  had  just  awakened  to 
a  sense  of  her  great  need  of  love.  It  is  a  knowledge 
that,  sooner  or  later,  must  come  to  every  woman ; 
and  to  her  it  had  come  through  pain  and  anguish. 
Almost  with  the  knowledge  of  the  need  had  come 
the  love, — a  full,  golden  cup,  brimming  over  with 
the  ruby  wine.  Would  she  drink,  and  so  find  peace  ? 

Clyde  showed  a  marvelous  patience, — a  patience 
he  had  never  been  known  to  manifest  before.  Always, 
hitherto,  whatever  he  wanted  he  must  grasp  at  once. 
Now,  in  a  moment,  love  seemed  to  have  taught  him 
the  wisdom  of  the  serpent.  Or  else — and  perhaps 
this  supposition  was  nearer  the  truth — he 

"  feared  his  fate  too  much, 
And  dared  not  put  it  to  the  touch 
To  gain  or  lose  it  all." 

Kenneth  and  Clyde  had  both  been  in,  one  after 
noon,  on  their  way  up  from  the  post-office,  and  had 
brought  me  my  mail.  There  was  a  letter  for  Elsie 
also. 

"  Dr.  Bellinger's  handwriting,  and  the  New  York 
postmark,"  said  Clyde,  as  he  gave  it  to  her.  "  So 


EXPIA  TION. 


207 


he  must  have  got  home.  I  wonder  if  he  came  in  on 
the  Scotia  last  Saturday  ?" 

"  Probably,"  she  answered.  She  hesitated  for  a 
moment,  and  then  broke  the  seal. 

"  And  when  is  he  coming  up  ?"  asked  Clyde,  while 
his  cheeks  flushed  a  little.  "Very  soon,  I  suppose  ?" 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  evasively.  "  Before  a  great  while." 
Then  she  refolded  the  letter,  which  was  a  short  one, 
and  slipped  it  into  her  pocket,  merely  adding,  "  He 
had  a  very  pleasant  passage,  Aunt  Margaret,  if  it  was 
in  the  winter." 

Snow  had  fallen  a  day  or  two  before,  and  the  roads 
were  in  fine  condition. 

"  You  will  soon  be  going  home,  then,"  said  Clyde, 
with  a  little  touch  of  sadness  in  his  voice.  "  How  is 
it  about  that  sleigh-ride  ?  We  were  to  have  one,  you 
know,  and  the  moon  is  at  the  full  to-night.  It  will 
be  almost  as  light  as  day.  Shall  I  bring  the  Brownie 
round  at  seven  o'clock  with  the  full  complement  of 
furs  and  sleigh-bells  ?" 

"  '  Keeping  time,  time,  time, 

In  a  sort  of  Runic  rhyme, 
To  the  tintinnabulation  that  so  musically  swells 

From  the  bells,  bells,  bells,  bells, 

Bells,  bells,  bells,— 
From  the  jingling  and  the  tinkling  of  the  bells,'  etc.  ?" 

she  said,  with  a  half  laugh.  "  It  sets  one's  blood 
dancing,  does  it  not?  But  I  think  we  will  not  go 
to-night,  Clyde.  It  is  very  cold,  and  I  am  not  just  in 
the  mood." 

Did  she  read,  as  I  did,  a  secret  in  Clyde's  eyes  ? 


208  EXPIATION. 

If  she  did,  she  did  not  gain  much  by  staying  at  home ; 
for  that  evening  he  came,  and  came  alone. 

I  was  in  the  dining-room,  busy  about  some  little 
matter.  Elsie  was  in  the  parlor,  touching  her  guitar 
softly,  and  crooning  low,  tender  songs  as  she  sat  in 
the  glow  of  the  firelight.  I  can  hear  the  quaint 
refrain  even  now,  as  it  floated  out  to  me  through  the 
open  door: 

"  For  men  must  work,  and  women  must  weep, 
And  the  sooner  'tis  over,  the  sooner  to  sleep, — 
And  good-by  to  the  bar  and  its  moaning !" 

My  young  neighbors  were  in  the  habit  of  coming 
in  without  any  ceremony ;  especially  of  an  evening, 
when  they  were  very  sure  of  finding  us  in  the  parlor. 
So  when  I  heard  Clyde's  step  in  the  hall,  I  kept  on 
with  my  work,  assured  that  he  would  speedily  find 
his  way  into  the  warm,  fire-lighted  room  where  Elsie 
was  singing. 

She  came  out  to  me  presently,  with  a  scarlet  flush 
upon  her  cheeks,  and  a  disturbed,  anxious  look  in 
her  soft  eyes.  . 

"  Come  in  the  other  room ;  do,  Aunt  Margaret !" 
she  said,  in  a  quick  whisper.  "  I  want  you  ;  I  can't 
do  without  you." 

"Pretty  soon,"  I  answered;  "but  I  have  just 
arranged  this  pattern,  after  great  tribulation,  and 
must  finish  cutting  out  my  work  first.  I  will  come 
before  long." 

It  was  better  that  I  should  stay  where  I  was.  If 
Clyde  had  anything  to  say,  it  might  as  well  be  said 
at  one  time  as  at  another ;  the  sooner  the  better,  I 
thought. 


EXPIATION. 


209 


Elsie  hesitated  for  a  moment;  then  went  slowly 
back  to  the  parlor,  leaving  the  door  wide  open.  In 
another  minute  I  heard  her  talking  with  great  ani 
mation  and  fluency  about  some  book  she  had  just 
been  reading, — a  book  for  which,  as  I  happened  to 
know,  she  did  not  care  a  straw. 

Clyde  rose  quietly  and  shut  the  door.  For  half  an 
hour  there  was  a  low,  continuous  murmur  of  voices 
in  the  other  room.  I  could  distinguish  Clyde's,  raised 
at  times  in  passionate  supplication  and  entreaty; 
Elsie's,  earnest,  subdued,  compassionate.  Alas,  poor 
Clyde  !  I  was  very  sure  how  it  would  end,  and  my 
whole  heart  yearned  over  him  in  unutterable  love 
and  pity,  even  while  I  felt  that  his  impulsive,  stormy 
nature  was  one  upon  which  no  woman  could  ever 
rest  in  trust  and  confidence.  Elsie  could  give  him 
pity,  sympathy,  a  quiet,  sisterly  affection ;  all  these, 
indeed,  she  had  given  him.  But  I  felt  in  my  very 
soul  that  night,  that  she  could  not  give  him  the  love 
for  which  he  sought.  It  was  not  Kenneth  that  came 
between  them  ;  it  would  have  been  just  the  same 
if  he  had  never  been  born.  Yet  I  doubt  if  she 
was  fully  conscious  of  this  until  the  demand  was 
made.  There  are  some  questions  that  a  woman's 
heart  refuses  to  answer  when  she  questions  it  her 
self. 

I  grew  uneasy  as  the  minutes  rolled  on.  They  had 
talked  long  enough.  Should  I  go  in  and  interrupt 
them  ?  I  had  finished  cutting  out  my  work,  after 
ruining  one  sleeve  by  turning  the  figure  wrong  end 
up ;  and  if  I  kept  my  promise  to  Elsie,  I  must  join 
them. 

8* 


210  EXPIATION. 

But  just  then  there  was  a  stir,  a  movement  of 
chairs,  a  rising.  Clyde  was  going. 

They  went  out  into  the  hall.  The  door  into  the 
dining-room  stood  ajar.  They  did  not  notice  it,  or 
they  did  not  care ;  it  may  have  been  either. 

"  I  cannot  regard  this  as  final,"  said  Clyde,  in  a 
voice  that  he  vainly  strove  to  render  calm.  "  I  will 
not  so  regard  it.  Oh,  Elsie!  Elsie  !"  he  cried,  in  intense, 
passionate  whispers,  "  I  will  compass  heaven  and 
earth  to  win  you  !  I  cannot  resign  the  blessed  hope 
of  calling  you  mine, — my  own,  my  love,  my  wife  ! 
The  fourteen  years  that  Jacob  served  for  Rachel 
would  seem  but  as  a  day  if  at  the  end  I  might  claim 
you.  Only  say  that  you  will  not  steel  your  heart 
against  me, —  only  give  me  one  word  of  hope, — and 
my  love  shall  work  miracles  to  make  me  worthy  of 
you." 

Elsie  was  weeping ;  a  little  storm  of  sobs  and  sigh 
ing  swept  in  through  the  open  door,  as  her  singing 
had  before. 

"  Oh,  Clyde !  do  not  say  any  more,"  she  said.  "  I 
cannot  bear  it.  I  would  love  you  if  I  could.  I 
wanted  to  love  you,  and  that  is  why,  when  the 
knowledge  of  this  first  dawned  upon  me, — only  a 
little  while  ago, — I  did  not  at  once  repulse  it.  I 
wanted  to  love  you,  Clyde.  But  now  that  you  have 
spoken,  there  is  not  one  fibre  of  my  being  that 
answers  to  your  call.  My  heart  tells  me  this  so 
plainly  that  I  dare  not  ignore  its  warning." 

"  But  I  will  make  you  love  me  !''  he  cried.  "  The 
strength  of  my  love  shall  draw  you  to  me  in  spite  of 
yourself."  Then  in  soft,  pleading  tones  he  added, 


EXPIA  TION.  2 1 1 

"  I  know  I  am  not  worthy  of  you,  Elsie.  I  know 
I  am  high-tempered,  passionate,  capricious,  and  that 
my  life  has  thus  far  been  spent  to  little  purpose. 
But  it  shall  not  be  so  in  the  future.  For  your  sake  I 
will  do  battle  with  Apollyon.  For  your  sake  I  will 
make  myself  a  king  among  men,  and  only  your  hand 
shall  crown  me." 

"  Worthiness  has  nothing  to  do  with  it,"  she 
answered,  very  sadly ;  "  though  a  woman  may  well 
doubt  whether  a  man  will  do  for  her  sake  what  he 
has  not  done  for  God's.  But  words  are  of  no  avail, 
Clyde.  It  is  enough  that  I  feel  I  can  never  give  you 
the  love  you  seek.  Less  than  that  would  not  con 
tent  you  ;  and  I  could  not  wrong  my  womanhood  by 
giving  it,  even  if  it  would." 

"  Would  not  content  me !"  he  exclaimed,  grasping  at 
a  straw,  and  ignoring  her  last  sentence.  "  Oh,  Elsie  ! 
the  least  crumb  from  your  hand  will  content  me.  I 
do  not  ask  that  you  should  love  me  as  you  would 
love  a  nobler,  better  man.  But  I  am  starving, — 
famishing:  do  not  turn  me  away  empty." 

Poor  boy  ! — for  he  seemed  to  my  forty-five  years 
hardly  more  than  that, — could  he  not  see  that  every 
word  he  spoke  was  increasing  the  distance  between 
them? 

"  Say  no  more,"  she  said,  with  a  serious  dignity  in 
her  voice  and  mien.  "  Say  no  more,  Clyde,  for  I 
cannot  listen.  The  man  who  wins  my  love  must  be 
able  to  command  it.  He  must  come  as  a  king,  not 
as  a  beggar.  But  let  us  part  as  friends,  dear  friends. 
Believe  me,  I  have  given  you  all  I  can." 

I  got  up  and  went  out  into  the  hall.     If  Clyde  did 


212  EXPIATION. 

not  like  the  interruption  I  could  not  help  it.  For 
both  their  sakes  it  was  time  that  he  was  gone. 

Elsie  stood  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs,  leaning  against 
the  baluster.  Clyde  had  dropped  upon  the  lower 
step,  and,  with  his  hand  clasping  hers,  was  looking 
up  in  her  face  beseechingly.  Their  relative  positions, 
their  very  attitudes,  were  significant.  Even  so,  had 
they  been  man  and  wife,  would  he  have  sat  always  at 
her  feet ;  even  so  would  he  have  looked  up  to  her  for 
guidance  and  direction.  There  are  women  who  might 
have  been  content  and  happy  in  such  a  relationship  ; 
but  not  so  Elsie  Meredith. 

He  rose  when  he  saw  me,  and  a  faint  attempt  at  a 
smile  hovered  about  his  mouth  for  a  moment.  He 
passed  his  hand  across  his  forehead,  and  looked  about 
him  with  a  half-bewildered  air.  Then,  as  if  thought 
and  memory  had  come  back  to  him,  he  turned  to 
Elsie. 

"You  are  not  banishing  me?"  he  said.  "  I  may 
come  to  see  you  again  ?" 

"  Certainly,"  she  answered.  "  I  hope  we  shall  be 
friends  always,  Clyde." 

He  took  the  hand  she  had  extended,  clasped  it  in 
both  his  for  an  instant,  and  bowed  his  forehead  upon 
it.  Then  he  groped  blindly  toward  the  door. 

I  opened  it  for  him  without  a  word.  Perhaps  he 
knew  it,  and  perhaps  he  did  not.  But  I  think  he  was 
quite  unconscious  of  my  presence. 

As  the  door  closed  upon  him,  Elsie  flew  up-stairs. 
In  any  extremity  of  feeling,  whether  of  joy  or  sorrow, 
she  always  sought  solitude;  and  I  did  not  seek  to 
stay  her. 


EXPIA  TION.  2 1  3 

I  drew  aside  the  muslin  curtain  that  shaded  one  of 
the  long,  narrow  windows  by  the  side  of  the  door, 
and  looked  out.  It  was,  as  Clyde  had  prophesied,  as 
light  as  day.  A  dark  figure,  wrapped  in  a  long  cloak, 
was  pacing  back  and  forth  outside  the  gate. 

It  was  Kenneth. 

Clyde  stood  for  a  moment  upon  the  piazza,  leaning 
against  one  of  the  pillars ;  then  he  staggered  down 
the  snow-covered  path.  Kenneth  saw  him  coming, 
and  one  glance  told  him  the  whole  story.  Letting 
the  gate  swing  to  behind  him  with  a  sharp  clang,  he 
strode  swiftly  up  the  path  to  meet  him,  and  folded 
him  in  an  embrace  so  close  that  Clyde  dropped  his 
head  upon  his  shoulder  like  a  tired  child. 

There  was  a  little  iron  settee  under  a  tree  near  the 
gate.  I  saw  Kenneth  place  Clyde  there ;  I  saw  him 
chafe  his  cold  hands,  and  press  handfuls  of  snow  to 
his  lips  and  forehead.  But  I  did  not  go  out  to  them. 
They  were  better  off  alone. 

After  a  few  moments,  Clyde  rose  to  his  feet,  and 
Kenneth,  taking  off  his  cloak,  wrapped  it  about  him. 
Then  the  two  brothers,  the  one  supported  by  the 
other,  went  slowly  up  the  hill,  under  the'  leafless 
boughs  of  the  maples,  to  their  own  house. 


214 


EXPIA  TION. 


CHAPTER    XVIII. 

CLYDE  had  protested  against  sentence  of  banish 
ment,  and  Elsie  had  told  him,  in  effect,  that  she  had 
no  desire  to  pronounce  such  a  sentence,  and  that  she 
hoped  they  might  be  friends  in  the  future  as  they 
had  been  in  the  past.  Nevertheless,  I  was  surprised 
when,  the  next  afternoon,  he  walked  in  with  an  air  as 
careless  and  unembarrassed  as  usual.  I  do  not  mean 
that  he  showed  no  traces  of  the  conflict  of  the  previous 
night.  He  looked  older:  there  were  shadows  about 
his  eyes.  There  was  an  unconscious  drooping  of  the 
eyelids,  a  tension  about  the  mouth,  that  spoke  of 
suffering  and  unrest.  But  he  approached  Elsie  with 
the  same  ease,  the  same  frank,  open  friendliness  that 
had  always  characterized  his  manner  toward  her. 
He  had  not,  in  the  least,  the  bearing  of  a  rejected 
lover.  She  looked  disturbed  when  he  entered  the 
room  ;  an  expression  of  doubt  and  dread  swept  over 
her  face,  and  the  color  deepened  on  her  cheek  ;  while 
about  him  there  was  no  unpleasant  consciousness,  no 
sign  of  embarrassment.  What  did  it  mean  ?  Had  he 
made  up  his  mind  to  accept  the  situation  manfully, 
to  give  up  the  struggle,  and,  his  troubled  spirit  making 
no  sign,  to  go  back  silently  to  their  old  friendly  rela 
tions  ?  All  I  knew  of  Clyde  Armstrong  forbade  me 
to  believe  this.  Not  so  would  he  receive  this  blow  ; 
not  so  would  he  submit  to  the  downfall  of  his  hopes. 

In  Kenneth  I  could  perceive  but  little  change.    He 


EXPIA  TIOX. 


215 


was  very  quiet,  as  he  had  been  for  weeks.  Knowing 
as  I  did  that  he  had  tried  to  prevent  Clyde  from 
making  an  avowal  of  his  love,  it  was  but  natural  that 
I  should  look  for  some  evidence  of  relief  or  satisfac 
tion  when  his  suit  was  rejected.  But  if  it  was  there, 
I  failed  to  discover  it.  He  simply  devoted  himself  to 
Clyde,  soul  and  body,  as  he  had  so  long  done.  To 
Elsie  his  demeanor  was  precisely  what  it  was  before : 
sincere,  kindly,  courteous,  but  with  the  "^hus  far  and 
no  farther"  that  had  so  effectually  sundered  them,  as 
clearly  marked,  as  decided  as  ever. 

Dr.  Bellinger  came  in  due  time.  Elsie  would  fain 
have  persuaded  him  to  return  the  next  day ;  but  he 
demurred. 

"  No,  no,  child,"  he  said,  drawing  her  upon  his 
knee.  "  No,  no  ;  don't  be  in  a  hurry.  I  want  to  see 
Altona  in  her  winter  glory.  It  is  always  well  to  make 
the  most  of  one's  opportunities,  Miss  Meredith,"  he 
added,  with  the  air  of  a  philosopher,  "  and  I  want  to 
make  the  most  of  mine.  I  may  not  have  such  another 
chance  in  thirty  years  to  come.  Margaret,"  turning 
to  me  with  a  quick,  enthusiastic  gesture,  "  I  thought 
to-day,  as  I  was  coming  up  through  these  valleys  and 
under  these  hills,  that  in  all  the  wanderings  of  three 
decades  my  eyes  had  rested  upon  no  fairer  land." 

"  Three  decades  !"  I  repeated.  "  It  is  not  possible 
that  it  is  thirty  years  since  you  left  Altona,  Dr. 
Bellinger?" 

"  But  it  is  quite  possible,"  he  answered.  "  I  was 
a  boy  of  twenty  then.  I  am  fifty  years  old,  Miss 
Rossiter !" 

"Poor  old   uncL- !"  said  Elsie,  passing  her  hand 


2l6  EXPIATION. 

through  his  now  silvered  locks,  and  smiling  into  his 
fine,  thoughtful  face.  I  was  about  to  say  unfurrowed 
face,  but,  upon  second  thoughts,  I  repent  me.  Time 
had  done  its  own  chiseling  upon  it,  and  there  were 
lines  upon  the  broad  forehead  and  about  the  firm, 
steadfast  mouth  that  had  not  been  there  in  his  boy 
hood.  He  had  thought  too  much,  felt  too  much, 
lived  too  much,  to  have  retained  the  smooth  round 
ness  of  his  youth.  "  Poor  old  uncle  !"  she  said, 
"  what  a  decrepit  veteran  he  is  getting  to  be  !  Half  a 
century  old !  Doesn't  he  want  an  ear-trumpet,  or  a 
new  cushion  for  his  gouty  foot  ?" 

He  pinched  her  ear,  and  then,  springing  from  his 
seat  with  her  in  his  arms,  he  carried  his  laughing 
burden  across  the  room  and  made  a  feint  of  seating 
her  upon  the  mantel-piece. 

"  '  Decrepit  veteran' !  '  goiity  foot' !  "  he  exclaimed, 
fiercely,  as  she  struggled  to  escape  from  him.  "  I'll 
teach  you  a  lesson  or  two  to-morrow,  Miss  Meredith. 
We'll  walk  up  the  old  turnpike  to  the  top  of  Bluff 
Hill,  and  look  off!  Which  will  first  cry  'hold, — 
enough'  ?  You  or  I  ?" 

She  made  him  a  merry  answer.  The  excitement 
of  his  coming,  her  delight  at  seeing  the  man  who  had 
for  years  stood  to  her  in  the  place  of  a  father,  had 
brought  a  glad  light  to  her  eyes  and  made  her  seem 
more  like  her  old  self  than  she  had  for  many  weeks. 
I  flattered  myself  that  Dr.  Bellinger  would  not  observe 
the  change  that  was  so  perceptible  to  me.  But  that 
evening,  when  she  had  left  the  room  on  some  trifling 
errand,  he  turned  to  me  gravely. 

"  What  have  you  been  doing  to  my  little  girl  up 


EXPIATION. 


217 


here,  Miss   Rossiter  ?      She  is  not  at  all  the  same 
child — or  woman — that  I  brought  here  last  June." 

I  made  some  confused,  incoherent  observations  re 
lating^  to  the  great  changes,  both  in  mind  and  body, 
that,  in  certain  stages  of  development,  a  few  months 
would  often  bring  about. 

"  Tut,  tut !"  he  said,  worried  out  of  his  usual  calm 
gentlemanliness.  "  It  is  not  that.  Elsie  is  a  woman, — 
past  the  age  for  such  sudden  changes.  Something  is 
wrong  with  her,  physically  or  spiritually ;  I  am  not 
quite  sure  which.  I  expected  to  find  her  as  round 
and  rosy  as  that  little  damsel  of  yours  who  baked 
the  muffins  for  tea.  What's  the  trouble,  Margaret  ? 
What  has  she  been  about  ?" 

"  I  cannot  tell  you,  Dr.  Bellinger,"  I  said,  in  a  voice 
that  would  tremble  a  little.  "  I  have  tried  to  take 
good  care  of  her;  but  you  know " 

He  interrupted  me  hastily.  "  I  know  I  am  not 
such  a  brute  as  to  think  otherwise,"  he  said.  "  I 
knew  just  what  a  warm,  love-lighted  home  I  was 
bringing  her  to,  and  just  what  brooding,  motherly 
care  you  would  give  her,  before  I  placed  her  under 
your  roof.  But  I  am  perplexed  and  troubled,  Mar 
garet.  Elsie  has  changed  very  much.  She  seems 
to  me  to  have  stepped  suddenly  from  light-hearted 
girlhood  into  mature,  thoughtful  womanhood.  She 
makes  an  effort  to  blind  me,  and  to  assume  with 
me  her  old  frolicsome  ways.  But  the  disguise  is  thin, 
and  my  eyes  pierce  through  it ;  I  see  the  suffering 
underneath  the  smiles." 

I  was  thankful  that  Elsie's  return  to  the  parlor  just 
then  prevented  the  necessity  of  a  reply. 
K  19 


2i8  EXPIATION. 

The  next  day  the  two  were  gone  for  hours.  I  think 
Dr.  Bellinger  became  satisfied,  by  the  time  they  had 
climbed  Bluff  Hill  and  ascended  to  the  top  of 
Wetherby's  Ledge,  that  Elsie  was  not  a  prey  to  con 
sumption  or  any  other  bodily  ailment.  She  came 
back  to  supper  with  glowing  cheeks  and  a  good 
appetite. 

The  glow  faded  after  a  little,  however,  and  the 
unrest  and  longing  came  back  to  her  eyes.  I  saw 
the  doctor  watching  her  with  the  closest  interest, 
and,  woman-like,  I  wondered  how  much  he  read.  He 
was  both  sage  and  philosopher;  yet  I  took  the  lib 
erty  of  doubting  whether  there  were  not  certain  signs 
and  hieroglyphics  which  I  could  translate  better 
than  he. 

During  Dr.  Bellinger's  visit  of  the  previous  June, 
he  had  become  a  great  favorite  with  both  my  young 
neighbors.  His  heart  had  kept  all  the  glow  and 
freshness  of  its  youth.  In  one  sense  he  was  as  young 
as  they.  But  in  his  wide  experience,  his  knowledge 
of  men  and  things  won  from  extended  travel,  his 
erudition,  his  keen,  incisive  intellect,  his  familiar 
acquaintance  with  the  world  of  literature,  art,  and 
science,  in  short,  in  all  the  garnered  wealth  of  his 
half-century  of  noble  living,  they  found  a  charm  that 
they  could  hardly  have  found  in  the  society  of  any 
man  of  their  own  age. 

So  I  was  not  surprised  when,  soon  after  tea  that 
evening,  they  made  their  appearance,  taking  great 
credit  to  themselves  for  having  left  Elsie  and  me  in 
undisturbed  possession  of  him  for  full  twenty-four 
hours. 


EXPIATION. 


219 


The  doctor  did  most  of  the  talking  that  night,  the 
rest  of  us  merely  asking  questions  and  making  sug 
gestive  observations  for  the  purpose  of  drawing  him 
out.  His  late  European  trip — for  during  his  three 
months  of  absence  he  had  traveled  over  half  the  con 
tinent — was  still  fresh  in  his  mind,  and  he  greatly 
enjoyed  the  telling,  as  we  the  hearing,  of  what  he 
had  seen  and  thought  and  felt. 

At  length,  in  a  little  lull  in  the  conversation,  he 
turned  to  Kenneth.  "Mr.  Armstrong,  do  you  re 
member  the  great  excitement  in  '51  with  regard  to 
the  Marchdale  forgeries?" 

"  Perfectly,"  he  replied ;  "  and  not  only  the  for 
geries,  but  the  heavy  embezzlements,  the  suicide  of 
the  cashier,  and  all  the  rest  of  it.  It  was  a  strange 
affair." 

"  More  than  a  nine-days'  wonder,"  said  the  doctor. 
"  Indeed,  I  believe  it  has  lived  to  this  day.  Well,  I 
have  something  to  tell  you  about  that  matter  which 
will  interest  you.  That  poor  cashier,  whose  memory 
has  been  for  nearly  seven  years  a  target  for  reproach 
and  obloquy,  is  at  last  vindicated." 

"  I  am  glad  to  hear  It,"  was  the  answer.  " '  Let 
justice  be  done,  though  the  heavens  fall.'  But  what 
new  revelations  have  been  made?  What  has  hap 
pened  ?" 

The  doctor  smiled  as  he  took  the  tongs  and  heaped 
the  glowing  hickory  brands  upon  the  great  brass 
andirons,  sending  a  shower  of  sparks  up  the  chimney, 
while  we  all  settled  ourselves  for  a  story. 

"  I  came  over  in  the  Scotia,  as  you  know,"  he 
began.  "  On  the  second  day  out,  I  noticed  a  tall, 


220  EXPIATION. 

gentlemanly  man,  whose  face  seemed  strangely  fa 
miliar, — so  familiar,  indeed,  that  it  really  became  an 
annoyance ;  for  I  was  constantly  endeavoring  to  give 
to  it  '  a  local  habitation  and  a  name.'  I  ascertained 
that  the  man  was  a  New  Yorker,  and  at  length  arrived 
at  the  conclusion  that  his  was  one  of  the  numberless 
faces  I  was  in  the  habit  of  meeting  on  Broadway,  and 
that  in  some  way  it  had  been  singled  out  from  the 
mass  and  daguerreotyped  upon  my  memory.  He 
occupied  a  large  state-room  on  the  upper  deck,  and 
apparently,  notwithstanding  the  crowded  condition 
of  the  boat,  had  it  all  to  himself.  At  least,  no  other 
person  was  ever  seen  to  issue  from  it,  and  he  seemed 
to  have  no  companion.  But  one  warm,  sunny  day  I 
was  lying  on  a  settee  near  the  door  of  his  state-room, 
when  he  came  out,  turned  the  key,  and  went  down 
stairs. 

"  Pretty  soon  I  heard  a  noise  in  the  state-room  that 
I  had  supposed  to  be  tenantless, — a  tramp,  tramp, 
tramp  of  tireless  feet  up  and  down  the  confined  space. 
Once  or  twice  there  was  a  sound  like  the  clanking 
of  a  chain ;  then  I  heard  a  smothered  groan,  and  the 
words,  '  My  God  !  what  will  the  end  be?' 

"  After  perhaps  half  an  hour  my  tall  friend  came 
back  with  a  bowl  of  broth,  went  into  the  state-room 
again,  and  all  was  silent. 

"  It  all  flashed  upon  me  in  a  moment.  The  man 
was  James  Gibson, — a  United  States  officer,  not  of  the 
military,  but  of  the  civil  service.  I  had  seen  him  a 
hundred  times,  and  recognized  him  from  his  con 
nection,  more  or  less  important,  with  several  promi 
nent  trials.  He  had  some  prisoner  in  charge  whom 


EXPIATION.  221 

the  British  government  had  kindly  delivered  over  to 
the  tender  mercies  of  our  own.  Notwithstanding  all 
my  love  of  law  and  order,  I  own  to  a  feeling  of 
tender  sympathy  for  the  poor  wretch  who  was  locked 
up  in  that  state-room.  He  was  evidently  handcuffed: 
the  little  clanking  noise  I  had  heard  betrayed  that. 
Doubtless  he  was  a  desperate  character;  and  if  I  had 
been  the  officer  having  him  in  charge,  I  myself  should 
probably  have  required  him  to  wear  those  ugly  brace 
lets,  feeling  that  he  would  hardly  have  been  a  safe 
room-mate  without  them.  Still,  the  fellow  was  a  man 
and  a  brother ;  and  it  was  not  an  agreeable  thought 
that  what  was  a  pleasure-trip  to  most  of  us — some 
thing  to  be  enjoyed  and  remembered — to  him  was 
only  the  passage  of  the  Bridge  of  Sighs,  fearful  in 
itself,  and  more  fearful  in  that  to  which  it  led. 

"  Before  the  voyage  ended,  I  became  quite  well 
acquainted  with  the  officer.  He  was  an  intelligent, 
well-bred  man,  with  a  vast  amount  of  practical  com 
mon  sense,  and  singularly  acute  perceptive  faculties. 
We  had  many  a  pleasant  chat  together,  pacing  up  and 
down  the  moonlighted  deck,  or  leaning  upon  the 
taffrail  to  watch  the  wake  of  the  ship  as  it  stretched 
behind  us, — a  shining  track  through  the  limitless 
blue  desert.  But  he  never  alluded  to  the  mysterious 
occupant  of  his  state-room,  and  I  was  silent  as 
the  Sphinx. 

"  When  the  pilot  came  on  board,  two  other  men, 
whom  I  at  once  recognized  as  United  States  officers, 
came  with  him,  and,  as  they  sprang  on  deck,  clapped 
Mr.  Gibson  on  the  shoulder  with  a  congratulatory 
air. 

19* 


222  EXPIATION. 

"  'So  you've  got  him,  safe  and  sound,  have  you  ?' 
said  one  of  them.  '  And  a  good  job  it  is,  too.  You've 
made  your  mark,  Gibson.' 

"  '  Hush  !'  whispered  that  gentleman.  '  Not  a  soul, 
except  the  captain  and  steward,  knows  that  he  is  on 
board.  I  didn't  want  to  stir  up  a  commotion  and  be 
the  observed  of  all  observers ;  neither  did  I  wish  to 
be  questioned.  So  I  kept  my  own  counsel.' 

" '  It  was  best,'  returned  the  other.  And  the  three 
walked  away  together. 

"  Of  course  my  curiosity  was  a  good  deal  excited ; 
but  I  expected  to  know  nothing  more  until  the  affair 
was  duly  chronicled  in  all  the  papers  with  startling 
headings,  amazing  capitals,  and  a  shower  of  exclama 
tion-points. 

"  We  got  in  in  the  night ;  and  the  next  morning, 
knowing  there  was  no  one  at  home  impatient  to  greet 
me,  I  remained  quietly  in  my  state-room  until  the 
rush  was  over  and  most  of  the  passengers  had  left 
the  steamer.  Then  I  sallied  forth,  valise  in  hand. 

"  But  just  in  advance  of  me,  as  I  reached  the  gang 
way,  was  a  group  that  instantly  riveted  my  attention, — 
my  tall  friend,  the  other  two  officers,  and  a  fourth. 
The  handcuffs  at  once  pointed  him  out  as  their  pris 
oner.  They  left  the  vessel  quietly,  and  were  just 
about  entering  a  close  carriage  that  was  in  waiting, 
when  Mr.  Gibson  caught  a  glimpse  of  me,  and  sprang 
back  to  give  me  a  grasp  of  the  hand  at  parting. 

"  '  Good-by,  doctor  !'  he  said.  '  We've  had  a  very 
pleasant  voyage,  but  I  fancy  we  are  all  glad  to  be  on 
terra  firma  again,  unless  it  may  be  the  poor  devil  in 
the  carriage  yonder.  Drive  on  slowly,  Bill ;  I'll  over- 


EXPIATION. 


223 


take  you  at  the  corner.  Who  do  you  think  we've 
got  there,  doctor  ?' 

"  '  I  don't  know/  I  answered.  '  But  I've  known  all 
along  that  you  had  some  one  cooped  up  in  that  state 
room  of  yours.' 

"'And  never  so  much  as  gave  me  a  hint  of  it! 
Doctor,  you're  a  close  one.  To  pay  you  for  it,  I'll 
let  you  into  the  secret,  although  I  only  intended  to 
set  you  a-guessing.  We've  been  on  his  track  for  full 
two  years,  and  at  last  we've  got  him.' 

" '  But  who  is  it  ?'  I  asked,  glancing  hastily  at  the 
carriage,  which  was  nearing  the  corner. 

"  'It  is  a  man  with  a  dozen  aliases,'  he  said. 
'  Alexander  Bliss  is  the  name  he  goes  by  now.  He 
was  James  Elliott  at  the  time  of  the  Marchdale 
forgeries.' 

"  '  What !  the  employe  of  the  concern  whose  mys 
terious  disappearance  occasioned  so  much  comment?' 
I  asked. 

"  '  The  very  same.  He's  the  man  who  did  all  the 
mischief.  He  forged  the  notes,  stole  the  money, 
murdered  the  cashier,  and  so  cunningly  devised  his 
fable  that  the  world  supposed  the  latter  to  be  the 
felon,  and  thought  he  committed  suicide  through 
fear  of  detection.  But  he's  got  to  the  end  of  his  rope 
at  last,  and  is  pretty  sure  to  hang  for  it.  Good-by, 
doctor!  they're  waiting  for  me.'  And  off  he  dashed." 

A  chorus  of  exclamations  greeted  the  close  of  the 
doctor's  little  story,  and  questions  and  answers  fol 
lowed  each  other  in  quick  succession.  Elsie  and  I 
had  forgotten  all  about  the  affair,  if,  indeed,  we  had 
ever  heard  of  it. 


224 


EX  PI  A  TION. 


"  How  did  he  look,  Uncle  Howard  ?"  asked  Elsie. 
"  Such  a  bloodthirsty  wretch  as  he  must  be  !  I  would 
not  have  liked  to  be  on  the  same  ship  with  him. 
I  should  have  thought  the  sailors  would  have  been 
tempted  to  deal  with  him  as  their  ancient  brethren 
dealt  with  Jonah." 

"  Perhaps  they  would,  if  they  had  been  aware  of 
his  presence,  for  they  are  a  superstitious  set.  How 
does  he  look  ?  He's  a  regular  Adonis  ;  and  as  great 
an  exquisite  as  you  will  find  on  Broadway.  Villains 
do  not  always  wear  the  mark  of  the  beast  on  their 
foreheads,  Elsie.  The  devil  prepares  all  sorts  of  dis 
guises  for  his  own.  He  has  given  this  child  of  his 
as  fair  a  mask  as  one  would  see  in  a  twelvemonth." 

Elsie  shook  her  head.  "  I  don't  quite  believe  it, 
uncle.  The  mark  must  be  there  somewhere,  if  one's 
eyes  were  only  keen  enough  to  discern  it." 

"  Or  one's  spiritual  insight  clear  enough,"  said  the 
doctor.  "  But  come,  we  have  supped  on  horrors 
long  enough.  Give  us  a  song,  Elsie,  to  exorcise  the 
foul  fiends  we  have  been  conjuring  up." 

What  possessed  the  child,  out  of  her  repertoire  of 
songs,  to  select  that  night  the  "Song  of  the  Novice 
to  Queen  Guinevere"  ?  It  shivered  and  sobbed  and 
wailed  through  the  little  room  until  it  seemed  as  if 
the  spirits  the  doctor  had  spoken  of  were  nearer  to 
us  than  ever.  In  the  piteous  cry,  "  Oh,  let  us  in !" 
some  lost,  despairing  soul  seemed  to  force  its  way  to 
the  very  gates  of  heaven,  only  to  be  met  in  stern 
response  by  that  terrible  "  Too  late !"  and  sent  hur 
tling  back  into  the  abyss  from  whence  it  came. 

Kenneth  rose  with  compressed  lips,  walked  to  the 


EXPIATION.  22$ 

window,  and  gazed  out  into  the  night,  thus  hiding  his 
face  in  the  shadow  of  the  curtains.  Clyde  crept  nearer 
to  Elsie,  looking  at  her  with  great,  startled  eyes. 
The  doctor  glanced  from  one  to  the  other  with 
curious,  troubled  glances. 

"  There  !"  he  exclaimed,  as  the  last  note  died  upon 
the  ear.  "  My  patience,  Elsie !  I  thought  the  day 
of  judgment  had  come,  surely.  Now,  for  sweet 
pity's  sake,  give  us  something  that  is  not  quite  so 
doleful." 

"  A  lump  of  sugar  to  take  the  bad  taste  out  of  your 
mouth  !"  she  said,  with  a  half-smile.  "  Will  this  do 
better  ?"  And,  sweeping  the  strings  of  her  guitar, 
she  broke  into  a  sweet,  joyous  strain,  with  a  refrain 
that  was  like  the  chiming  of  silver  bells. 

"  Yes,  that  is  better,"  he  said,  as  she  paused.  "  Ugh ! 
that  other  thing  made  me  shiver." 

The  next  day  Clyde  dined  at  Cozytoft.  Kenneth 
had  gone  to  Bloomfield.  The  conversation  turned 
again  upon  the  forgery  and  the  arrest. 

"  It  is  one  of  the  most  remarkable  cases  I  ever 
heard  of,"  said  the  doctor.  "  The  plot  was  worked 
up  with  most  consummate  skill.  Now  that  one 
knows  the  whole  story,  it  is  really  curious  to  look 
back  and  read  the  '  logic  of  events.'  " 

"  Was  any  one  tried  for  the  crime  ?"  asked  Clyde. 

"  Yes;  two  different  parties  were  arrested  and  tried. 
But  the  evidence,  though  strong,  was  not  sufficient 
to  convict  them.  At  last  the  public  mind  settled 
down  into  the  belief  that  the  cashier  was  the  real 
culprit,  and  that  he  had  killed  himself." 

"  The   reports   of  their   trials  would   be    curious 

K* 


226  EXPIATION. 

reading  now,  examined  by.  the  light  of  these  new 
revelations." 

"  Would  you  like  to  see  them  ?"  asked  the  doctor. 
"  Elsie,  run  up  to  my  room,  there's  a  good  child,  and 
bring  me  the  roll  of  newspapers  you  will 'find  on  the 
bureau.  I  felt  so  much  interested  in  the  matter,  after 
what  Gibson  had  told  me,"  he  continued,  "that  I 
bought  a  file  of  the  Thunderer  for  '51,  in  which  paper 
I  knew  there  were  full  accounts  of  all  that  was  said 
and  done  relating  to  the  matter.  I  have  nearly  run 
them  through,  and  will  leave  them  for  you  when  I  go, 
if  you  would  like  to  look  at  them.  A  formidable 
array,  you  see,"  as  he  took  them  from  Elsie's  hand. 
"  But,  fortunately,  one  is  not  obliged  to  read  the 
whole  paper." 

Clyde  expressed  his  gratification  and  his  thanks ; 
and  the  doctor  renewed  his  promise  of  leaving  them 
behind  him  when  he  left  Altona, — which  was  to  be 
on  the  morrow.  Elsie  had  said  that  she  hated  leave- 
takings  ;  but  she  could  not  avoid  them.  They  came 
to  her,  as  they  come  to  us  all,  whether  we  will  have 
them  or  not. 

Half  the  village  knew  the  exact  minute  of  her 
departure  ;  tearful  eyes  looked  out  of  lowly  windows, 
and  hands  were  mutely  waved  in  token  of  farewell. 


EXPIATION. 


227 


CHAPTER    XIX. 

THE  house  was  very  desolate  after  she  had  gone. 
I  had  intended  to  dismiss  my  little  Mattie  and  go 
back  to  my  old  way  of  living.  But  after  we  had  put 
in  order  the  pretty  white  chamber  with  its  maidenly 
appointments,  closed  the  blinds,  and  left  it  to  dark 
ness  and  repose ;  after  we  had  gone  all  over  the 
house  that  seemed  so  empty,  missing  her  sweet 
presence  and  her  dainty  possessions  everywhere,  I 
sat  down  in  the  deserted  parlor  to  think  about  it.  I 
found  that  I  was  spoiled  for  solitude.  The  quiet  was 
too  quiet ;  the  silence  was  too  intense,  or  would  be 
if  I  sent  Mattie  away.  It  was  pleasant  to  know  that 
she  was  dashing  about  the  kitchen,  to  hear  her  voice 
— albeit  it  was  none  too  sweet — singing  snatches  of 
merry  songs,  and  to  be  interrupted  every  half-hour 
by  the  opening  of  a  door  and  the  appearance  of  a 
good-natured  face  with  the  inquiry,  "  Miss  Rossiter, 
would  you  do  thus  or  so  ?"  For  Matty  was  very 
fond  of  asking  advice.  It  broke  up  the  monotony 
of  her  life  as  well  as  mine,  I  suppose,  to  discuss  the 
important  questions  whether  it  was  better  to  use 
yeast-cakes  or  "  milk-emptins,"  or  which  most  effect 
ually  removed  the  dust,  a  cloth  or  a  feather  duster. 
So  Matty  stayed. 

I  saw  nothing  of  Kenneth  or  Clyde  for  several  days. 
Their  absence  would  have  hurt  me  a  little  if  I  had  not 
fully  understood  the  cause.  Cozytoft  had  lost  its  charm 


228  EXPIATION. 

for  them  as  well  as  for  me.  But  I  knew  they  would 
come  back  to  it  ere  long.  For  both  of  them  it  had 
been  hallowed  by  "  Love's  young  dream."  One  of 
them — or  so  it  seemed — had  awakened  from  that 
dream  of  his  own  free,  strong  will.  He  had  shaken 
himself  roughly,  and  said  to  his  soul,  "  Awake,  thou 
that  sleepest."  But,  nevertheless,  the  memory  of  the 
dream  was  with  him  still,  and  it  would  be  with  him 
as  long  as  life  should  last.  The  other  dreamed  on. 
The  words  he  had  spoken,  and  those  that  Elsie  had 
spoken  in  reply,  had  stirred  him  somewhat ;  the  pain 
they  had  occasioned  had  made  him  start  and  shiver ; 
he  had  moaned  in  his  sleep  in  feverish  unrest.  But 
he  had  not  awakened  from  his  dream :  he  had  not 
resigned  her.  And  it  was  because  hope  was  not 
dead  that  he  had  been  able  to  meet  Elsie  again  with 
no  outward  disturbance,  and  to  assume,  apparently, 
their  old  friendly  relations.  Because  she  had  told  him 
that  she  would  have  loved  him  if  she  could,  he  took 
courage,  after  the  sober  second  thought,  and  went  on 
in  the  dream  of  winning  her.  He  did  not  see  that  in 
the  open,  generous  frankness  of  that  admission  lay 
the  surest  ground  of  his  despair.  If  her  being  had 
answered  to  the  call  of  his,  there  would  be  no  need 
that  she  should  try  to  love  *him.  Her  heart  would 
have  flowed  out  to  him  spontaneously, — of  its  own 
free  will.  But  men  have  gone  on  blundering  in  this 
way,  and  failing  to  read  the  signs  of  the  times,  for  six 
thousand  years ;  and  doubtless  they  will  continue  so 
to  go  on  until  the  end  of  time.  My  poor  Clyde  was 
by  no  means  alone  in  his  folly. 

Meanwhile,  the  bundle  of  papers  that  the  doctor 


EXPIATION.  229 

had  left  for  him  lay  on  the  bureau  up-stairs  in  solitary 
state.  When  he  wanted  them  badly  he  would  come 
for  them.  Or,  if  at  any  time  he  seemed  in  desperate 
need  of  some  new  thing  to  interest  and  amuse  him,  I 
would  send  them  over. 

But  on  Friday  evening — Elsie  went  on  Monday — 
they  both  made  their  appearance,  Kenneth  and  Clyde. 
Of  course  we  talked  of  Elsie  and  of  the  doctor,  and 
of  the  strange  story  of  the  Marchdale  forgeries. 

"  Oh  !"  exclaimed  Clyde,  suddenly,  "  did  Dr.  Bel- 
liager  leave  those  papers  for  me,  as  he  promised  ?" 

I  nodded  assent. 

"  What  papers?"  asked  Kenneth,  carelessly,  as  he 
picked  a  yellow  leaf  from  my  rose-geranium. 

"A  file  of  the  Thunderer  for  1851,"  answered 
Clyde,  "  containing  all  the  reports  of  the  trials.  The 
doctoi  says  they  are  curious  reading  in  the  light  of 
our  present  knowledge ;  and  he  left  them  for  us  to 
look  over.  I  will  take  them  when  we  go  home,  if 
you  please,  aunty." 

One  of  the  quick,  startling  changes  I  had  so  often 
observed,  flashed  over  Kenneth's  face  at  that  instant; 
but  after  a  little  he  said,  quietly, — 

"  Better  leave  them  with  Miss  Rossiter  for  the 
waste-paper  basket.  You  will  never  have  patience  to 
read  them.  Searching  for  what  you  particularly  care 
to  see  will  be  too  much  like  hunting  for  the  needle  in 
the  haymow." 

"  They  will  serve  for  a  rainy  day,  if  nothing  more. 
Don't  slander  my  proverbial  patience,  Kenneth.  I 
haven't  the  slightest  idea  of  skipping  a  single  word. 
Where  are  they,  aunty  ?  Can  I  find  them  ?" 

20 


230 


EXPIATION, 


I  sent  Matty  up-stairs  for  them.  When  she  re 
turned,  Kenneth  rose  hurriedly,  glancing  at  his  watch. 

"  Do  not  stop  to  examine  your  treasures  now.  It 
is  time  we  were  at  home.  Shoulder  your  bundle,  and 
come  on." 

The  next  morning  Clyde  rushed  in  just  after 
breakfast. 

"  Did  I  leave  those  papers  here  last  night,  aunty?" 
was  his  first  salutation.  "  But  I  ask  the  question  just 
for  form's  sake.  I  know  I  took  them  home  with 
me!" 

"  I  know  it,  too,"  I  answered.  "  What's  the 
matter  ?  Have  you  lost  them  ?" 

"  Can't  find  them  high  nor  low,"  he  said.  "  I  have 
searched  the  house  all  over, — up-stairs  and  down.  I 
thought  common  sense  and  duty  required  me  to  come 
here  and  see  if  by  any  possibility  I  had  left  them. 
But  I  knew  better  all  the  time.  I  distinctly  remem 
ber  placing  the  roll  on  a  chair  near  the  head  of  my 
bed." 

"  It  is  very  strange,"  I  remarked.  "  Have  you 
looked  under  the  bed  ?" 

"  Under  it,  and  on  it,  and  over  it.  It  is  not  in  my 
room,  nor  anywhere  else.  Patsy  has  not  seen  it,  nor 
Dennis." 

"  Nor  Kenneth  ?" 

I  spoke  involuntarily, — and  the  next  moment, 
remembering  the  expression  of  Kenneth's  face  when 
he  first  heard  of  the  papers,  I  regretted  the  unguarded 
suggestion. 

"  Kenneth  ?  Of  course  he  has  not  seen  them.  He 
went  to  bed  before  I  did.  It  is  too  absurd  to  think 


EXPIA  TION. 


231 


of  their  being  stolen, — just  a  bundle  of  old  papers. 
But  what  can  have  become  of  them  ?" 

"  Was  your  door  open  during  the  night  ?" 

"  Yes, — that  is,  the  door  into  Kenneth's  room  was 
open.  I  think  the  one  into  the  hall  was  closed. 
Their  disappearance  is  just  unaccountable.  They 
are  not  worth  making  all  this  fuss  about,"  he  added, 
laughing.  "  But  there  is  something  uncanny  about 
the  whole  thing, — that  they  should  be  so  spirited 
away  from  under  my  very  nose."  And  off  he  dashed 
again. 

Now,  something  a  little  unusual  had  fallen  under 
my  observation  during  the  previous  night;  and 
musing  over  it  in  my  quiet  fashion  as  I  sat  there 
in  my  solitary  parlor,  suddenly  a  ray  of  light  seemed 
to  fall  upon  the  history  of  Clyde's  papers. 

This  was  what  had  happened.  About  one  o'clock 
I  had  awakened ;  and  after  tossing  restlessly  for  half 
an  hour  or  so  in  vain  pursuit  of  sleep,  I  got  up,  threw 
a  heavy  shawl  over  my  shoulders,  and  seated  myself 
at  the  window.  It  was  bright  starlight,  clear  and 
still,  and  every  shadow  upon  the  untrodden  snow 
was  distinct  and  immovable  as  if  outlined  by  the  hand 
of  an  artist.  Suddenly,  as  I  looked  over  at  Grey- 
holt,  from  behind  a  rock  in  a  secluded  part  of  the 
grounds,  and  at  a  long  distance  from  the  house,  a 
light  flame  shot  upward.  It  blazed  for  a  few 
moments  while  I  watched  it  with  startled  eyes.  Then, 
just  as  I  had  concluded  that  it  was  best  for  me  to 
make  some  attempt  to  alarm  my  neighbors,  it  dropped 
suddenly  into  arkness.  I  pondered  over  the  matter 
for  awhile,  but  finally  made  up  my  mind  that  some 


232 


EXPIATION. 


late  boy-truant  from  the  village,  going  home  "  across 
lots,"  had  paused  to  rest  behind  the  rock  and  amused 
himself  with  a  burning  pine-knot. 

A  different  solution  of  the  mystery  now  presented 
itself,  however;  and,  laying  aside  my  work,  I  donned 
cloak  and  hood  and  started  forth.  Not  wishing  to 
be  seen  from  the  windows  at  Greyholt,  I  crept  along 
behind  the  hedge,  scaled  the  wall,  and  stood  at  length 
in  the  shadow  of  the  rock.  • 

It  was  as  I  had  suspected.  There  was  no  trace  of 
boy  footsteps  in  the  snow ;  no  hint  of  resinous  pine 
torches.  But  the  snow  was  trampled  down,  and  there 
was  a  footprint  that  I  knew  to  be  Kenneth's.  There 
were  heaps  of  black  ashes  here  and  there, — ashes  so 
light  and  intangible  that  they  were  blown  about  by 
the  mere  fluttering  of  my  garments.  Two  or  three 
charred  fragments  of  paper  lay  upon  the  unmelted 
snow, — bits  no  larger  than  my  hand.  But  as  I  bent 
over  them,  holding  my  breath  lest  its  faintest  quiver 
should  cause  them  to  disappear,  I  read  a  date, — "  June 
23,  1851." 

I  tossed  a  little  snow  over  it  with  my  foot.  The 
night,  the  morning  thus  far,  had  been  intensely  still. 
But  just  then  a  light  breeze  rustled  the  tree-tops, 
and  crept  sighing  through  the  hemlock-boughs.  A 
moment  more,  and  it  caught  the  black,  feathery  flakes, 
whirling  them  hither  and  yon,  sweeping  the  snow 
clean  and  bare,  and  leaving  scarcely  a  vestige  of  the 
last  night's  work. 

Eighteen  hundred  and  fifty-one!  It  was  the  yeai 
that  brought  the  Armstrongs  to  Altona.  I  obliterated 
the  one  footprint  that  I  knew  to  be  Kenneth's,  threw 


EXPIA  TION. 


233 


fresh  snow  upon  whatever  spots  were  darkened,  and 
trampled  it  down.  Then  I  went  home,  and  sat  delib 
erately  down— to  think. 

The  clue  to  all  that  was  dark  and  strange  in  the 
lives  of  these  two  brothers  had  probably  been  placed 
in  my  very  fingers,  and  I  had  failed  to  grasp  it.  Those 
innocent  papers  that  had  lain  up-stairs  for  a  fortnight, 
— what  dire  secret  did  they  hold,  that  for  its  sake  they 
must  become  a  holocaust  ?  What  was  there  in  them 
that  Clyde  must  not  see  ?  What  mystery  was  there 
in  the  history  of  the  Armstrongs,  into  whose  dark 
labyrinths  Kenneth  had  been  admitted  and  Clyde  had 
not? 

I  wearied  myself  with  conjectures  ;  and  meanwhile 
Clyde  fumed  and  fretted  over  the  loss  of  his  papers, 
forming  first  one  theory  and  then  another  as  to  their 
sudden  disappearance.  He  and  Dennis  held  many  a 
discussion  over  the  matter,  the  latter  personage  leaning 
strongly  toward  the  supernatural,  and  overflowing 
with  pious  comments  and  suggestions. 

"  Indade,  Misther  Clyde,1'  he  would  say,  "  thim 
papers  were  not  alive,  it  is  ivident ;  and  how,  thin, 
could  they  walk  off  with  themselves  ?  They  had 
help,  sir, — they  had  help."  And  here  the  good  gray 
head  would  wave  ominously  back  and  forth.  "  It  is 
a  solemn  warnin'.  These  things  are  sint  to  us,  Misther 
Clyde  ;  they  are  sint  to  us  to  bring  us  to  a  sinse  of 
our  responsibility  !  God  bless  me  poor  sowl  and 
body, — but  I  think  I  know  me  duty  now!" 

What  he  meant  by  this  last  observation  it  would 
have  puzzled  a  lawyer  to  tell.  But  probably  his 
honest  brain  held  the  fancy  that  he  was  in  some  way 

20* 


234 


EXPIA  TION. 


accountable  for  the  loss  that  so  perplexed  and  annoyed 
his  young  master ;  and  perhaps  he  intended  to  say 
that  if,  in  order  to  defend  him  or  his  possessions,  it 
was  necessary  to  encounter  witches  or  banshees,  he 
was  ready  to  do  it.  At  all  events,  he  went  about  his 
work  for  many  days  with  head  bowed  down,  mur 
muring  to  himself,  "  God  bless  me  poor  sowl  and 
body, — but  I  think  I  know  me  duty  now !" 

As  for  Kenneth,  he  ignored  the  whole  matter,  so  far 
as  he  was  able ;  and  at  last  it  became  an  old  story, 
and  was  apparently  forgotten.  . 

As  the  winter  days  wore  on,  Clyde  grew  more  and 
more  restless,  moody,  and  irritable.  Nothing  was 
right ;  nothing  pleased  him  save  for  brief  intervals. 
Sometimes  he  would  be  sweeter  than  the  sweetest 
flower  that  grows.  A  strange  comparison,  you  say, 
when  a  man  is  in  the  case, — for  flowers  belong  to 
womanhood.  But,  ah,  my  poor  Clyde  !  You  could 
not  judge  him  as  you  judged  other  men, — you  could 
not  speak  of  him  as  of  other  men.  So  I  repeat, 
sometimes  he  was  sweeter  than  the  sweetest  flower 
that  grows.  Then,  again,  in  an  hour  perhaps,  such 
storms  of  passion  would  gather  about  him  that  they 
darkened  the  very  air. 

The  heart  of  the  winter  was  broken, — to  use  one  of 
Patsy's  favorite  expressions, — and  she  was  beginning 
to  think  of  spring  house-cleaning  as  not  so  very  far 
off.  I  had  not  seen  much  of  the  young  gentlemen 
for  a  fortnight, — the  surest  of  evidence  that  all  was  not 
well  with  them.  But  one  evening,  late  in  February, 
Kenneth  came  in  alone. 

He  threw  himself  down  upon  the  lounge  beside 


EXPIATION. 


235 


my  little  table,  and  laid  his  hand  upon  the  pages  of 
my  book. 

"  Shut  it  up,  aunty,"  he  said  :  "  I  want  to  talk  to 
you.  I  have  come  to  a  place,"  he  went  on,  pushing 
back  his  heavy  brown  locks  as  he  spoke,  "  where  I 
cannot  see  one  inch  of  the  way  before  me.  I  want 
you  to  help  me  to  find  it." 

"  If  I  can,"  I  answered.     "  What  is  it,  Kenneth  ?" 

"  Clyde  is  determined  to  go  to  New  York,"  he  said, 
hesitating  a.little,: — "to  see  Elsie.  Miss  Rossiter,  it 
must  be  prevented.  He  must  not  go." 

I  mused  in  silence  for  a  few  moments.  "But 
why?"  I  asked,  at  length.  "I  think  it  can  do  no 
good,  so  far  as  his  suit  to  Elsie  is  concerned.  But 
assuredly  it  will  do  no  harm.  Why  do  you  object 
to  his  going  ?" 

"  Because — it  is  not  best.  Because — our  father 
begged  me  on  his  dying  bed  to  keep  Clyde  away 
from  New  York.  Because " 

He  came  to  a  dead  stop.  Then,  dashing  his  hand 
suddenly  across  his  eyes,  he  went  on,  hurriedly  : 

"  I  am  conscious  that  all  this  must  seem  very  absurd 
to  you,  Miss  Rossiter  ;  that  it  places  us  in  a  strange, 
unfavorable  light.  I  am  conscious " 

I  interrupted  him.  "  There  is  one  thing  I  want  to 
say  to  you,  Kenneth.  The  course  you  pursue  with 
Clyde  is  strange, — it  is  peculiar.  It  is  liable  to  mis 
construction,  and  exposes  you  to  harsh  judgments. 
Do  you  not  know  it  ?  Devoted  as  you  are  to  him, — 
and  for  some  inexplicable  cause  you  are  devoted  to 
him,  soul  and  body, — there  are  yet  many  weak  points 
in  your  armor.  You  are  vulnerable  on  all  sides." 


236  EXPIATION. 

"  Know  it  ?"  he  cried,  passionately.  "  Oh,  my  God  ! 
do  I  not  know  it?  Not  a  wind  blows  that  does  not 
tell  me  of  it, — not  a  breath  passes  by  that  does  not 
whisper  of  it.  Idle  tongues  are  busy  with  my  name. 
They  charge  me  with  mercenary  motives ;  they  say 
that  I  take  advantage  of  the  fact  that  I  am  the  elder, 
and  in  some  way  the  stronger  of  the  two ;  they  say 
that  I  disregard  Clyde's  interests,  and  sacrifice  them 
to  my  own  ;  they  say  that  I  bend  him  to  my  will, 
and  that  he  is  but  as  a  reed  in  my  hands ;  they  say 
that  I  would  keep  him  from  love  and  marriage,  even, 
for  the  furtherance  of  my  own  selfish  ends  !  You  see 
I  know  it  all  !"  he  continued,  smiling  sadly.  "  I  am 
not  so  blest  as  to  be  ignorant  of  these  things." 

"  But,  my  child,"  I  said,  "  it  seems  to  me  that  in 
some  ways  you  might  do  differently.  Your  father, 
like  other  sick  men,  had  his  whims  and  fantasies. 
You  are  not  bound  by  them.  -  You  have  no  right  to 
sacrifice  yourself  and  Clyde  in  loyal  obedience  to 
them.  If  Clyde  were  to  lead  a  life  more  nearly  like 
that  of  other  young  men.  If " 

He  laid  his  hand  upon  my  arm  with  a  vice-like 
grasp. 

"  He  cannot  lead  such  a  life !"  he  cried.  "He  cannot ! 
Let  that  suffice.  I  do  not  create  destiny.  I  do  not 
ordain  circumstances.  I  only  conform  as  best  I  may 
— and  submit.  Miss  Rossiter,  Clyde  must  not  go  to 
New  York,  if  any  effort  of  mine  can  prevent  it." 

But  it  appeared  that  no  effort  could  prevent  it.  The 
open  rebellion  that  I  had  feared  so  long  came  at  last. 
Clyde  was  as  one  distraught  for  several  days.  Then 
he  declared  positively  that  he  would  go ;  no  power 


EXPIATION. 


237 


on  earth  should  restrain  him ;  he  had  been  held  in 
leading-strings  too  long  already, — he  was  of  age, — 
he  was  a  man, — he  had  the  same  right  to  draw  upon 
the  income  of  the  estate  that  Kenneth  had;  in  short, 
he  was  going  to  New  York.  If  his  brother  chose 
to  go  with  him,  well  and  good.  If  not,  he  was  going 
alone. 

What  would  Kenneth  do  ?  Would  he  still  resist, 
or,  having  exhausted  all  his  powers  of  persuasion, 
would  he  yield  gracefully  ?  He  answered  these  ques 
tions  himself. 

"  I  have  done  the  best  I  can,  and  all  I  can,  to  keep 
him  at  home,"  he  said,  "and  further  contention  is 
worse  than  useless.  Of  course  I  cannot  compel  him 
to  stay.  Now  I  must  go  with  him,  and  shield  him 
from  harm  as  best  I  may." 

Patsy  was  in  a  state  of  mingled  elation  and  anxiety 
when  the  news  of  their  speedy  departure  was  an 
nounced.  It  was  a  great  event  in  her  life,  that  her 
young  gentlemen  were  about  to  start  upon  a  journey; 
and  New  York  seemed  farther  off  to  her  than  Egypt 
and  the  Pyramids  do  to  you.  Such  overlooking  of 
shirts  and  handkerchiefs  and  stockings,  such  close 
inspection  of  buttons  and  button-holes,  as  went  on  at 
Greyholt  during  the  next  two  days  ! 

They  were  to  start  at  five  o'clock  the  next  morning, 
Dennis  driving  them  over  to  Bloomfield  in  time  for 
the  early  train.  Toward  night  I  ran  across  the  road, 
with  my  thimble  in  my  pocket,  to  do  a  little  delicate 
bit  of  repairing  that  Patsy  had  feared  was  beyond 
her  skill. 

The  contrast  between  the  two  brothers  that  after- 


EXPIATION. 

noon  struck  me  more  powerfully  than  ever  before. 
Kenneth's  preparations  were  all  made.  Everything 
in  which  he  was  personally  concerned  was  arranged 
for  as  long  an  absence  as  might  be  necessary.  He 
was  in  the  library  when  I  went  in,  and  I  caught  a 
glimpse  of  him  before  he  saw  me.  His  face  was 
somewhat  paler  than  its  wont,  but  quiet,  steady,  reso 
lute  ;  and  out  of  his  cool  gray  eyes  there  looked  a 
soul  that  having  warded  off  some  imminent  peril  as 
long  as  it  was  able,  was  now  girding  itself  up  to 
meet  and  grapple  with  it.  Yet  there  was  nothing  of 
sternness  or  dissatisfaction  there.  Having  yielded 
the  point  and  consented  to  go,  he  did  it  cordially, 
entering  into  all  of  Clyde's  plans  and  projects, 
and  sharing  his  eager  enthusiasm  so  far  as  he 
might. 

And  indeed  it  was  contagious.  Even  I  began  to 
feel  as  if  a  visit  to  New  York  must  be  the  acme  of 
human  desires, — the  very  highest  good.  Clyde  was 
in  a  state  of  the  wildest  exhilaration,  and  at  the  same 
time  in  one  of  his  sweetest  moods.  Why  should  he 
not  be,  having  gained  his  end  ?  He  glowed  and 
sparkled  all  over.  Never  had  his  marvelous  beauty 
seemed  so  like  an  incarnation  as  that  day. 

Yet  there  was  something  painful  about  it,  after  all. 
There  was  too  much  light  and  sparkle.  The  hot 
glow  upon  his  cheek,  the  intense  lustre  of  his  eye, 
the  warmth  and  splendor  that  haloed  him,  gave  me  a 
sense  of  dread,  of  subtle  danger. 

"  Come  up  here,  aunty  !"  he  shouted,  from  the  top 
of  the  stairs.  "  Come  up  here;  for  I  want  you." 

That  was  enough.    I  went.    Clyde's  "  I  want  you" 


EXPIATION. 


239 


was  a  most  difficult  thing  to  resist.  Would  Elsie 
find  it  so  at  last  ? 

He  had  insisted  upon  packing  his  own  trunk,  and 
the  result  was  that  confusion  reigned  supreme  in 
every  quarter  of  the  room. 

"  Just  look,  aunty  !"  he  exclaimed,  excitedly.  "  I 
am  making  a  pretty  mess  of  it !  I  never  can  get  half 
these  things  into  the  trunk." 

"  No ;  neither  can  any  one.  But  there  is  no 
necessity  for  it,  Clyde.  Why  in  the  world  are  you 
taking  all  your  summer  clothing  with  you  ?  You 
will  not  need  it"  And  I  began  to  lay  aside  the 
thin  garments  for  which  he  could  find  no  possible 
use. 

"  No,  no,"  he  cried,  hastily ;  "  I  must  take  it !  I 
shall  stay — no  one  knows  how  long.  Perhaps,"  he 
continued,  looking  cautiously  around  the  room  and 
lowering  his  voice  to  a  confidential  whisper, — "  per 
haps  I  shall  never  come  back.  To  tell  the  truth,  I 
do  not  like  Altona.  It  doesn't  suit  me.  I  am  going 
to  New  York.  I  am  going  to  see  the  world.  I  am 
going  to  Elsie  !  Good-by  to  Altona  !" 

He  waved  his  hand  with  a  theatrical  flourish  and 
snapped  his  fingers. 

"  And  to  me,  Clyde  ?     Good-by  to  me  also  ?" 

"  Oh,  you  dear  old  aunty !"  he  exclaimed,  catch 
ing  me  about  the  waist, — a  liberty  he  was  by  no 
means  in  the  habit  of  taking. — "  Good-by  to  you  ? 
Not  by  any  means.  I'll  tell  you  a  secret,"  he  whis 
pered,  while  he  held  me  fast,  and  his  hot  breath 
fanned  my  cheek.  "  When  we  are  married,  Elsie 
and  I,  we  shall  come  to  Altona  to  spend  our  honey- 


240 


EXPIA  TION. 


moon !     But  I  shall    never   come   till  then, — never, 
never,  never !" 

I  was  frightened,  I  confess.  I  tore  myself  away 
from  him  and  turned  toward  the  door,  with  the  in 
tention  of  calling  Kenneth.  He  divined  my  purpose, 
and,  springing  forward,  laid  his  hand  upon  the  lock. 
His  eyes  were  a  flame  of  fire. 

"  Pack  that  trunk  !"  he  shouted,  under  his  breath, 
— if  one  may  use  such  an  expression.  His  voice  had 
all  the  force  and  power  of  a  shout,  while  at  the  same 
time  there  was  cunning  in  his  incipient  madness. 
"  Pack  that  trunk  !  I  am  going  to  Elsie,  I  tell  you  ! 
Pack  that  trunk  !  and  don't  you  dare  to  call  that 
brother  of  mine,  or  I  will  hurl  this  inkstand  at  your 
head !" 

He  caught  up  a  large  glass  inkstand  that  stood 
upon  the  table  within  reach,  still  keeping  one  hand 
upon  the  lock.  Why  he  did  not  close  the  door  and  turn 
the  key  has  always  been  a  mystery ;  but  he  did  not. 

I  was  in  the  power  of  a  madman.  If  I  could  only 
keep  him  quiet  till  succor  came ! 

"  Yes,  yes,"  I  said,  soothingly.  "  Do  not  be  impa 
tient,  Clyde.  I  will  pack  the  trunk  immediately." 

"  Do  it,  then,"  he  said,  peremptorily,  "  and  be  quick 
about  it.  I  am  going  to-night,  to-night !  Do  you 
hear?  Kenneth  means  to  play  me  a  trick.  He 
means  to  carry  me  off  somewhere, — where  I  shall 
never,  never  see  Elsie.  But  I'll  get  the  better  of  him  ! 
Oh,  yes !  I'll  teach  him  a  thing  or  two.  I'm  going 
to-night — to-night — and  leave  him  in  the  lurch.  He 
hates  me,  Miss  Rossiter;  and — do  you  hear? — I — 
hate — him !" 


EXPIA  TION. 


24I 


The  concentrated  bitterness  of  those  last  words 
forced  me  to  look  up  at  him.  I  was  kneeling  by  the 
trunk,  crowding  in  one  article  after  another.  But  in 
that  one  quick  glance  I  saw  that  he  had  removed  his 
hand  from  the  knob,  and  the  door  had  swung  open  a 
few  inches. 

"  Hand  me  that  coat,  please,  Clyde,"  I  said,  quietly. 
"  There's  just  room  for  it  here." 

He  turned  toward  the  chair;  and,  springing  to  my 
feet,  I  flew  into  the  hall,  closing  the  door  behind  me. 
As  I  did  so,  there  was  a  wild  shriek,  a  groan,  a  heavy 
fall. 

I  rushed  down-stairs,  screaming,  "  Kenneth  !  Ken 
neth  !"  He  was  by  my  side  in  an  instant,  gave  one 
glance  at  my  white,  scared  face,  spoke  not  a  word, 
but  bounded  up  the  stairs  into  the  chamber  I  had 
left. 


CHAPTER    XX. 

I  FOLLOWED  Kenneth.  Clyde  lay  prone  upon  the 
carpet,  face  downward,  and  hands  clenched  in  his 
tawny  hair. 

We  attempted  to  lift  the  poor,  insensible  body  ; 
but  it  was  too  much  for  my  strength.  I  called  Den 
nis, — mute  now  with  bewilderment  and  sorrow, — and 
the  two  men  raised  Clyde  from  the  floor  and  placed 
him  upon  the  bed.  Kenneth  had  not  spoken  one 
word.  Now,  as  Dennis  reverently  lifted  his  hat 
L  21 


242 


EXPIATION. 


and  stood  uncovered,  he  placed  his  hand  upon  his 
brother's  forehead  and  gazed  long  and  earnestly  upon 
his  pallid  face.  Then  he  stooped  and  kissed  the 
fast-closed  eyes. 

"  Oh,  Clyde  !  Clyde  !"  he  said,  under  his  breath. 

I  stepped  forward  and  touched  his  arm. 

"  There  is  no  time  to  lose,  Kenneth.  Ought  he 
not  to  be  undressed  and  made  comfortable,  as  far  as 
we  can  do  it,  before  he  revives  from  this  swoon  ?"  I 
feared  that  at  a  later  moment  he  might  prove  utterly 
unmanageable. 

Kenneth  looked  at  me  with  a  strange,  far-away 
look  in  his  eyes,  as  if  he  scarcely  comprehended  my 
meaning.  I  repeated  my  words. 

"  Call  Patsy,  please,  Miss  Rossiter,"  he  said, 
finally.  "  Dennis,  go  for  Dr.  Mathews.  Take  the 
Brownie,  and  be  quick.  Then  come  back  imme 
diately." 

There  was  little  said  while  we  disrobed  Clyde  and 
applied  wet  cloths  to  his  burning  head.  Patsy's  tears 
flowed  silently,  but  she  did  not  open  her  lips,  save 
to  make  some  necessary  suggestions.  But  when  all 
was  done  that  we  could  do,  and  we  waited  the  com 
ing  of  the  doctor,  Kenneth  glanced  at  the  open  trunk 
and  the  various  pieces  of  clothing  that  were  scattered 
about  the  room. 

"  Put  them  all  away,  Patsy,"  he  said.  "  Put  them 
all  out  of  my  sight.  What  is  Dr.  Bellinger's  address, 
Miss  Rossiter?" 

I  gave  it ;  and  he  wrote  a  hasty  telegram,  finishing 
it  just  as  the  sound  of  the  Brownie's  hoofs  upon  the 
beaten  road  told  that  Dennis  had  returned.  He  was 


EXPIATION.  243 

at  once  dispatched  to  Bloomfield  with  it,  and  ordered 
to  wait  for  an  answer. 

Meanwhile  Dr.  Mathews  came,  examined  Clyde 
carefully  and  gravely,  and  shook  his  head. 

"  It  is  a  bad  case,  Mr.  Armstrong,"  he  said,  at  last. 
"  I  will  not  try  to  conceal  the  danger  from  you.  It 
is  a  violent  affection  of  the  brain,  the  immediate  cause 
of  which  I  should  judge  to  be  some  strong  mental 
excitement.  I  have  had  little  experience  in  such  dis 
eases,  and  would  rather  some  older  physician  should 
take  the  responsibility  of  this  case.  There  is  Dr. 
Hazleton,  of  Bloomfield  ?"  he  added,  suggestively. 

"A  thousand  thanks  for  your  frankness,  doctor," 
said  Kenneth,  cordially ;  "  but,  anticipating  serious 
trouble  here,  I  have  already  telegraphed  to  Dr.  Bel 
linger,  of  New  York.  In  the  interim,  however,  I 
would  rather  the  case  should  remain  in  your  hands." 

The  doctor  bowed.  "  Then  I  will  do  my  best,  sir." 
And  he  turned  toward  the  bed  again,  where  Clyde 
still  lay  in  a  state  of  coma. 

In  four  hours  Dennis  came  back  with  the  dispatch. 
Kenneth  tore  off  the  envelope. 

"  Thank  God  !"  he  cried,  with  a  deep  sigh  of  relief. 
Dr.  Bellinger  would  leave  New  York  on  the  first 
through  train ;  we  might  expect  him  to-morrow,  at 
midday. 

There  was  no  change  in  Clyde  that  night, — there 
was  none  the  next  morning.  Occasionally  he  would 
groan  and  mutter  incoherent  words,  seemingly  of 
reproach  or  entreaty.  But  for  the  most  part  he  lay 
as  one  dead, — pallid,  silent,  motionless.  The  hours 
were  long  until  Dr.  Bellinger  came. 


244  EXPIATION. 

But  when  he  did  come,  he  gave  us  little  encour 
agement. 

"  This  does  not  seem  quite  like  ordinary  brain 
affections,"  he  said,  stroking  his  gray  beard  reflect 
ively.  "  Has  he  ever  been  hurt  ?  ever  received  any 
injury  about  the  head  ?" 

"  Yes,"  Kenneth  answered,  hesitating  a  little.  "  He 
was  thrown  from  a  horse  several  years  ago,  and 
injured  severely.  Here  is  the  scar."  And  he  parted 
the  heavy  hair. 

Dr.  Bellinger  examined  the  long,  irregular  cicatrix 
critically,  asking  many  questions  which  Kenneth 
answered  concisely.  Then  he  rose,  and  paced  the 
room  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour.  Turning  at  last 
suddenly  to  Kenneth, — 

"  Will  you  know  what  I  mean  if  I  talk  about 
'  Bony  Process  '  ?"  he  asked.  "  I  do  not  use  medical 
terms  and  phrases,  if  I  can  avoid  it,  when  speaking 
to  the  uninitiated.  In  your  brother's  case  there  has 
been  a  formation  of  bone,  or  a  bony  substance,  inside 
the  skull,  and  pressing  upon  the  brain.  It  was  occa 
sioned,  doubtless,  by  this  accident  or  injury  of  which 
we  have  been  talking.  But  even  with  this  under 
standing  of  the  matter,  the  case  is  by  no  means  a 
plain  one.  Unless  I  am  greatly  mistaken,  there  are 
complications  dating  from  some  trouble  still  farther 
back." 

Kenneth  made  no  reply  to  this,  but  sat  with  his 
hand  over  his  eyes  and  his  lips  compressed. 

"  There  might  be  an  operation,  I  suppose,"  the 
doctor  went  on,  slowly,  speaking  more  to  himself  than 
to  his  companion.  "  But  it  would  be  extremely 


EXPIATION. 


245 


hazardous ;  not  one  chance  in  a  thousand  of  saving 
the  life  of  the  patient.  And  if  I  am  right  in  my 
diagnosis,  there  are  other  troubles,  that  no  surgical 
skill  can  reach.  Still,  even  the  one  chance  is,  per 
haps,  worth  trying.  What  do  you  say,  my  young 
friend  ?" 

Ever  since  Dr.  Bellinger's  arrival  Kenneth  had  been 
so  calm,  so  collected,  so  self-contained,  that  the  good 
physician  thought,  doubtless,  that  he  was  not  over 
sensitive,  and  could  bear  the  plainest  possible  dis 
course  without  wincing.  Now,  however,  the  firm 
lips  parted  in  a  vain  endeavor  to  speak ;  the  hand 
that  covered  the  eyes  trembled  violently  ;  the  broad 
breast  heaved,  and  a  sudden  passion  of  dry,  tearless 
sobs  shook  the  young  man's  powerful  frame,  even  as 
a  sapling  is  shaken  by  the  force  of  the  tempest. 

"  Do  not  ask  me, — do  not  ask  me,  Dr.  Bellinger !" 
he  cried,  seizing  the  hand  that  the  doctor  had  ex 
tended  in  a  spasm  of  self-reproach  and  pity.  "  Do 
not  ask  me  to  decide  such  a  question  as  that.  I  leave 
it  all  in  your  hands.  I  do  not  know  what  is  best." 

"  Then,"  said  the  doctor,  very  gently,  remembering 
at  last  the  close  relations  that  had  always  existed 
between  these  two  brothers,  and  touched  with  tender 
pity  for  both, — "  then  I  decide  against  an  operation, — 
at  least  for  the  present.  I  doubt  if  your  brother  is 
able  to  endure  it  now.  By-and-by,  if  we  can  bring 
about  some  favorable  changes,  and  mitigate  some  of 
the  immediately  alarming  symptoms,  it  may  be  well 
to  reconsider  the  matter." 

That  night  violent  fits  of  raving  alternated  with 
hours  of  death-like  stupor.  As  in  the  beginning  of 

21* 


246 


EXPIA  TION. 


the  attack,  the  poor,  oppressed  brain  dwelt  constantly 
upon  Elsie  and  Kenneth.  Kenneth  hated  him, — 
Kenneth  was  striving  to  keep  him  from  Elsie, — 
Kenneth  had  laid  a  plot — oh  !  a  cunning,  deep-laid 
plot — to  entice  him  away  to  some  far  land  where  he 
could  never  so  much  as  hear  her  name.  Occasionally 
he  would  rave  about  the  will  and  the  safe,  repeating 
over  and  over  again,  in  every  varied  form,  the  cruel 
suspicions  of  which  Tom  Bradshaw  had  sown  the 
seed.  How  Kenneth  writhed  under  this  torture  God 
only  knew  !  But  Clyde's  chief  cry  was  for  Elsie, — 
for  Elsie.  And  at  last  the  bewildered,  shattered  brain 
settled  itself  upon  that  one  thought  and  knew  nothing 
else.  The  poor,  distorted  lips  cried  out  for  Elsie 
continually. 

This  lasted  all  that  night  and  the  next  day.  Then 
Dr.  Bellinger  said,  calling  Kenneth  and  me  into  the 
library, — 

"  There  are  two  things  that  must  be  done.  With 
your  permission  I  shall  send  for  Elsie.  Her  presence 
may  possibly  quiet  Clyde,  and  give  us  a  little  time. 
As  it  is,  medicines  have  no  effect  upon  him,  and  he 
will  wear  himself  out  in  this  struggle.  Then  we  must 
obtain  an  experienced  nurse, — one  who  is  more  ac 
customed  to  dealing  with  all  the  different  phases  of 
delirium  than,  thank  God  !  any  of  you  here  can  be." 

A  quick,  hot  flush  swept  over  Kenneth's  face  at 
the  doctor's  first  proposition.  But  it  faded  in  an 
instant. 

"  Send  for  whom  and  what  you  please,  doctor," 
he  answered.  "  Under  no  circumstances  could  Miss 
Meredith's  presence  in  Altona  be  unwelcome.  As  for 


EXPIA  TWN. 


247 


the  nurse,  I  am  afraid  you  will  have  to  send  away  for 
him  or  for  her  also.  There  are  no  nurses  about  here 
who  can  be  compared  with  the  two  who  have  already 
placed  themselves  at  your  command, — Miss  Rossiter 
and  Patsy." 

"  Yes,  yes,  I  understand  that,"  was  the  response.  "  But 
we  need  a  professional  nurse.  Clyde's  case  demands 
trained  skill.  Besides,  there  is  no  knowing  how  long 
this  may  last ;  and  you  cannot  endure  the  strain  for 
many  weeks.  I  know  of  an  excellent  nurse  who  has 
often  assisted  me  in  the  care  of  delirious  patients  at 
St.  Elizabeth's.  We  must  have  her  at  once." 

So  again  the  telegraph  was  brought  into  requisi 
tion,  and  the  doctor  dispatched  this  message  to 
Elsie  : 

"  Come  up  here  by  next  train,  and  bring  Sister 
Agnes." 

But  it  would  be  eighteen  hours  at  the  least — per 
haps  twenty-four — before  we  could  reasonably  expect 
them.  How  slowly  those  hours  dragged  on  only 
those  can  know  who  have  been  in  a  like  stress  of 
anxiety  and  pain.  It  was  morning  at  last,  and  possibly 
they  might  reach  Altona  at  midday. 

"  By  the  by,"  said  Dr.  Bellinger,  as  I  poured  for 
him  a  cup  of  strong  coffee,  "  perhaps  I  ought  to  tell 
you  that  you  will  not  find  Sister  Agnes  a  very  talka 
tive  person." 

"All  the  better,"  I  answered.  "  To  tell  the  truth, 
I  have  been  dreading  her  tongue  ever  since  you  sent 
for  her.  Whatever  other  virtues  they  may  possess,  I 
never  yet  knew  a  nurse  who  was  blessed  with  the  gift 
of  silence." 


248 


EXPIATION. 


The  doctor  laughed  softly  as  he  stirred  his  coffee. 
"Then  Sister  Agnes  will  suit  you  to  a  T;    and  I 
may  as  well  tell  you  the  whole  story  without  further 
circumlocution.     The  woman  is  a  mute." 

I  was  struck  dumb  myself  for  a  moment.  "  You 
do  not  mean  that  she  is  deaf  and  dumb  ?"  I  asked, 
in  a  sort  of  dismay.  "  What  ever  shall  we  do  with 
her  ?" 

"  No, — she  is  not  deaf.  But  she  cannot  speak, 
owing  to  some  difficulty  of  the  throat  which  seems 
to  have  impaired  the  vocal  organs.  She  would  never 
allow  me  to  examine  her  case ;  so  I  do  not  know  much 
about  it.  But  she  is  a  capital  nurse,  and  that  is  all 
we  care  for  just  now." 

I  still  thought  this  was  likely  to  be  an  uncomfort 
able  state  of  things, — worse,  perhaps,  than  the  talka 
tiveness  I  had  dreaded. 

"  It  must  be  awkward,  nevertheless,"  I  said.  "  How 
do  you  manage  with  her  ?  Does  she  have  any  diffi 
culty  in  making  her  wants  known  ?" 

"  Not  the  least,"  answered  the  doctor.  "  Do  not 
give  yourself  any  uneasiness  on  her  account,  Mar 
garet.  She  will  take  care  of  herself.  Her  signs  are 
wonderfully  graphic  and  intelligible ;  and,  besides, 
she  writes  with  great  ease  and  rapidity.  The  fact 
that  she  can  hear  simplifies  matters,  you  see." 

I  went  out  to  explain  the  case  to  Patsy  upon  this ; 
thinking  it  better  that  she  should  be  prepared  for  all 
emergencies. 

"  Well,  she  won't  be  a-gabbling  and  a-gossiping, 
that's  one  comfort,"  said  she.  "  And  I'd  a  great  sight 
ruther  not  have  her  talk  at  all  than  to  have  her  tongue 


EXPIA  TION. 


249 


a-running  from  morning  till  night.  I  s'pose  she's  one 
o'  them  furriners, — Catholic,  most  likely, — a  sort  of 
a  nun,  or  something;  and  she  won't  eat  meat  on 
Fridays.  I  wonder  how  the  fish-market  is  nowa 
days  ?  But,  see  here,  Miss  Rossiter,"  she  added,  as 
I  turned  to  go  up-stairs.  "What  chamber  shall  I 
fix  for  Miss  Elsie?" 

I  hesitated  a  moment.  "  Not  any.  Matty  will 
see  to  that.  Miss  Elsie  will  prefer  to  have  her  old 
room  at  my  house,  I  am  sure.  But  you  had  better 
put  the  one  adjoining  yours  in  order  for  this  Sister 
Agnes." 

The  carriage  had  gone  to  Bloomfield  to  meet  the 
travelers ;  but  neither  Dr.  Bellinger  nor  Kenneth 
had  accompanied  it.  They  could  not  be  spared. 
Neither  could  I  be  spared  long ;  but,  catching  up  a 
shawl  that  lay  upon  the  hall  table,  I  ran  across  the 
road  to  give  a  few  directions  to  Matty  and  to  see  for 
myself  that  Elsie's  room  was  ready  for  her.  For  I 
felt  sure  she  would  stop  at  Cozytoft. 

The  pretty  guest-chamber  had  not  been  occupied 
since  she  left  it ;  and  it  had  the  forlorn,  desolate  air 
so  soon  acquired  by  a  room  that  is  not  in  daily  use. 
But  a  bright  little  fire  upon  the  hearth  soon  altered 
all  that,  and  it  presently  glowed  with  warmth  and 
radiance,  beaming  a  welcome  from  every  corner.  I 
wheeled  the  dimity-covered  easy-chair  in  front  of 
the  fire,  placed  a  little  table  beside  it,  with  a  new 
book  or  two,  and  a  tiny  glass  vase  wherein  a  crim 
son  tea-rose  blushed  and  smiled  amid  its  emerald 
leaves.  Then  I  went  back  ;  and  as  I  slowly  mounted 
the  hill,  under  the  naked  maple-boughs,  I  heard 


250  EXPIATION. 

Clyde's  voice  raised  in  strange,  unnatural  tension, 
crying  — 

"  Elsie !  Elsie !" 

Dr.  Bellinger  had  gone  to  lie  down,  for  he  had  been 
up  a  great  part  of  the  previous  night,  and  Kenneth 
and  I  were  in  Clyde's  chamber,  when  we  heard  the 
sound  of  wheels  upon  the  graveled  road.  Even  in 
that  darkened  room  I  saw  Kenneth's  color  change, 
and  noted  a  sudden  and  peculiar  motion  of  the 
shoulders,  which  in  him  was  always  a  sign  of  internal 
agitation.  But  he  rose  silently  and  went  to  the 
window. 

"  They  have  come,"  he  said,  quietly.  "  At  least, 
the  carriage  has  come.  I  do  not  see  Miss  Mere 
dith." 

I  went  down.  Dennis,  hat  in  hand,  had  just 
opened  the  carriage  door,  and  a  tall,  dignified  woman, 
with  the  air  and  bearing  of  a  lady,  was  descending 
the  steps.  As  I  bade  her  welcome,  she  bowed, 
touched  her  lips  with  her  finger,  smiled  faintly,  and 
passed  by  me  into  the  hall.  Dennis  had  left  Elsie  at 
Cozytoft,  as  I  had  predicted.  I  waited  to  ask  him  a 
question  or  two,  and  then  followed  the  stranger  into 
the  house. 

A  strange  embarrassment — a  sort  of  panic,  so  to 
speak — seized  me  as  I  approached  the  silent,  motion 
less  figure  that  awaited  my  coming.  A  tall,  dignified 
woman,  as  I  have  said,  of  about  forty-five  years, 
around  whose  face  and  figure  the  light  of  past  beauty 
lingered,  even  as  the  sunset  glow  illumines  a  land 
scape  after  the  sun  has  set, — with  delicate,  finely- 
cut  features,  a  perfectly  colorless  complexion,  large 


EXPIATION. 


251 


dark  eyes,  eyebrows  somewhat  heavy,  but  singularly 
arched  and  almost  a  jet-black,  contrasting  strangely 
with  hair  that  was  blanched  to  a  snowy  white 
ness, — gray  dress  of  some  soft  woolen  fabric,  gray 
cloak,  gray  hood  which  had  fallen  back  upon  her 
shoulders,  revealing  a  quaint,  nun-like  cap  with  a 
band  across  the  forehead  like  that  of  a  lady  abbess, — 
such  was  Sister  Agnes.  For  a  moment  it  seemed  to 
me  that  some  old  medieval  portrait  had  stepped  down 
from  its  tarnished  gilded  frame,  and  was  waiting  for 
me  to  address  it.  What  ever  should  I  do  with  this 
stately,  silent  woman,  whose  dark,  questioning  eyes 
followed  me  so  intently,  but  whose  lips  spake  never 
a  word  ? 

A  happy  thought  struck  me.  "  You  will  like  to 
see  Dr.  Bellinger  and  learn  something  of  the  patient 
for  whose  sake  you  have  come  so  far,"  I  said.  "  Step 
into  the  library  and  be  seated,  if  you  please,  and  I 
will  ask  him  to  speak  with  you  for  a  moment  before 
you  go  to  your  chamber." 

I  opened  the  library  door,  and  then,  hastening  up 
stairs,  tapped  lightly  at  that  of  the  doctor's  room. 
He  appeared  presently. 

"  Come  right  down,  doctor,"  I  said,  "  and  see  this 
Sister  Agnes  of  yours.  And  I  am  going  with  you, 
to  see  how  you  manage  to  carry  on  a  conversation 
with  her." 

"  Come  along,  then,"  he  answered,  as  one  but  half 
awake.  "  Where's  Elsie  ?  But  what's  the  matter  ? 
Have  you  seen  a  wraith,  or  what  ?" 

"  Elsie  is  at  my  house,"  I  answered.  "  No,  I  have 
not  seen  a  wraith.  But  I  believe  I  am  afraid  of  that 


252 


EXPIA  TION. 


woman,  doctor  !  Her  silent  stateliness  is  too  much 
for  me." 

"  You  don't  say  so  !"  he  said,  mockingly.  "  Mar 
garet  Rossiter,  I  have  always  thought  you  that  rara 
avis,  a  sensible  woman.  Come  straight  down-stairs 
now,  and  retrieve  your  character  before  it  is  forever 
too  late." 

It  was  absurd,  this  unaccountable  tremor  that  had 
taken  possession  of  me  ;  and  I  followed  the  doctor 
down  to  the  library  in  quite  a  chastened  frame  of 
mind. 

He  entered  the  room  while  I  was  yet  upon  the 
stairs,  and  his  first  words  were, — 

"  Heigh-ho !  What's  this  ?  Why,  Sister  Agnes, 
Sister  Agnes,  what  is  the  trouble  ?" 

A  faint,  inarticulate  murmur,  half  sigh  and  half 
moan,  was  the  answer,  as  Sister  Agnes,  who  was 
standing  bolt  upright  in  the  middle  of  the  room  with 
both  hands  pressed  upon  her  heart,  turned  toward 
him  a  white,  convulsed  face,  staggered  forward,  and 
fell  into  his  outstretched  arms. 

"  Here's  a  to-do  !"  said  the  doctor,  half  impatiently, 
as  he  laid  her  upon  the  sofa.  "Don't  be  fright 
ened,  Margaret.  Raise  the  window,  and  give  me 
your  sal-volatile.  Is  the  world  turning  upside 
down  ?  I  thought  this  woman  had  nerves  of  steel, 
and  here  she  is  fainting  away  like  a  scared  school- 
girl!" 

The  cold,  fresh  air  and  the  pungent  salts  soon 
revived  her  in  a  measure ;  and  she  sat  up,  looking 
about  her  in  a  vague,  bewildered  way.*  Then  her 
eyes  closed  again,  and  I  saw  that  only  an  effort  of 


EXPIATION.  253 

most  persistent  and  determined  will  prevented  her 
from  falling  back  into  another  swoon.  This  was  a 
pretty  state  of  things,  truly ! 

"A  glass  of  wine,  Miss  Rossiter,"  said  the  doctor. 
And  I  brought  it.  He  held  it  to  her  lips,  bidding  her 
drain  it  to  the  very  bottom.  Presently  a  little  faint 
color  crept  into  the  wan  lips,  and  she  raised  her  hands 
to  her  head  with  a  motion  of  weariness  and  pain.  Dr. 
Bellinger  watched  her  silently.  Then,  turning  to  me, 
he  said, — 

"She  will  be  all  right  soon.  Tired  out  before  she 
started,  probably.  She  had  better  go  to  her  room 
for  the  present" 

At  this  Sister  Agnes  lifted  her  head,  with  a  motion 
of  dissent,  and  her  hand  strayed  hither  and  thither, 
as  if  in  search  of  something. 

"  No,"  said  the  doctor.  "  You  can't  have  your 
pencil  yet.  Lie  still,  if  you  won't  go  up-stairs." 

A  slight  smile  just  touched  her  lips  for  an  instant ; 
but  again,  as  she  unclosed  her  eyes  and  they  wan 
dered  about  the  room,  taking  in,  in  one  rapid  glance, 
the  books,  the  pictures,  the  portraits  on  the  wall,  a 
strong  shudder  shook  her  frame.  Suddenly,  as  by  a 
violent  effort,  she  rose  from  the  sofa  and  seated  herself 
in  a  chair  so  placed  that  from  it  she  could  see  nothing 
but  the  wide,  far-reaching  landscape  without.  In  that 
position  she  remained  for  five  minutes,  while  the  doc 
tor  stood  quietly  by  her  side  with  his  fingers  upon 
her  wrist.  At  length  she  drew  a  long  breath,  and 
looked  up  at  him  with  an  apologetic  air,  and  yet  with 
strangely-questioning  glances. 

"All  right  now?"  he  said,  cheerily.     "  They  have 

22 


EXPIA  TION. 

been  working  you  too  hard  down  at  St.  Elizabeth's 
since  I  came  away,  haven't  they,  Sister  Agnes  ?  I 
never  expected  to  have  you  on  my  hands,  fainting 
away  and  all  that.  See  here,  you  have  fright 
ened  Miss  Rossiter  half  out  of  Jier  wits,  I  verily 
believe." 

We  both  bowed  in  response  to  this  slight  ceremony 
of  introduction.  Then  in  a  rapid  pantomime,  which 
even  I  could  partially  understand,  she  told  the  doctor 
that  she  had  not  slept  for  several  nights,  having 
devoted  herself  to  a  delirious  patient,  who  had  died 
an  hour  before  she  left  New  York.  Then,  she  said, 
calling  her  pencil  into  requisition,  she  had  not  been 
in  the  cars  for  many  years,  and  perhaps  the  unaccus 
tomed  motion  accounted  for  her  dizziness. 

Perhaps  the  doctor  believed  this;  but  I  did  not. 
Even  yet  the  look  of  terror  and  dismay  I  had  no 
ticed  as  she  fell  had  not  faded  out  of  the  woman's 
great,  dark  eyes ;  and  the  subtle  instincts  of  my  sex 
told  me  that  in  spite  of  the  self-control  and  strength 
of  will  she  now  wore  as  armor  of  proof,  her  heart  was 
throbbing  painfully  beneath  it. 

I  touched  her  hand.  It  was  cold  as  ice.  "  Come 
to  your  room  now  and  rest  awhile,  will  you  not?" 
I  said.  "  You  can  talk  with  the  doctor  by-and-by." 

After  a  moment's  hesitation,  she  rose  and  followed 
me,  drawing  her  hood  over  her  head,  and  glancing 
neither  to  the  right  nor  the  left  as  we  went.  But  as  we 
reached  the  door  she  paused,  and  said  to  the  doctor, 
in  her  strange  sign-language, — 

"  I  want  to  see  you  in  half  an  hour.     Where  ?" 

"  Here,"  "he  answered. 


EXPIA  TION. 


255 


But  she  made  a  gesture  of  dissent  so  unmistakable 
that  he  said, — 

"  No  ?  Then  I  will  come  to  your  room  in  just 
thirty  minutes.  Will  that  do  ?" 

She  nodded;  and  he  went  up-stairs  to  Clyde. 

I  have  been  a  long  time  in  telling  this.  But  prob 
ably  it  was  not  more  than  twenty  minutes  from  the 
time  she  entered  the  house  until  I  left  her  at  her 
chamber  door. 


CHAPTER    XXI. 

CLYDE  was  worse  that  night, — so  much  worse  that 
he  engrossed  my  thoughts  to  the  exclusion  of  all  else. 
I  have  never  been  able  to  recall  its  events  with  any 
distinctness.  I  know  that  Elsie  came  to  me,  that  I 
felt  her  clinging  arms  about  my  neck,  her  warm  kisses 
upon  my  cheek.  But  where  we  met,  in  whose  pres 
ence,  or  by  whose  agency,  I  could  never  remember. 
I  know  that  Clyde  was  raving  in  wild  delirium,  now 
filling  the  house  with  shouts  of  maniacal  laughter, 
now  moaning  pitifully  like  a  grieved  child,  now  crying 
out  for  Elsie,  now  calling  upon  his  father's  name,  now 
invoking  heaven's  vengeance  upon  Kenneth,  whom 
yet  he  did  not  recognize, — when  suddenly  a  slight, 
graceful,  black-robed  figure,  with  hair  that  made  a 
golden  radiance  in  the  darkened  room,  a  firm,  sweet 
mouth,  and  tearful  yet  resolute  eyes,  glided  into  the 
chamber,  and  laid  its  cool,  soft  hand  upon  his  fore 
head,  saying  only, — 


256  EXPIATION. 

"  I  am  here,  Clyde."  And  then,  as  once  in  days  of 
old,  "  immediately  there  was  a  great  calm." 

Clyde  did  not  speak;  he  did  not  move.  He  would 
hardly  have  seemed  alive  had  it  not  been  for  his  eyes. 
They  never  left  Elsie's  face  for  an  instant. 

Kenneth  stood  in  a  far  corner,  watching  both.  He 
had  not  seen  Elsie  until  that  moment,  when  she  bent 
over  Clyde  like  an  angel,  her  very  presence  bringing 
temporary  peace  to  the  troubled  soul.  As  I  have 
said,  I  do  not  remember  much  about  that  night. 
Everything  seems  vague  and  dream-like.  But  I  do 
remember  how  at  last  Kenneth  stole  softly  across 
the  room,  and,  taking  the  hand  that  dropped  at  Elsie's 
side,  raised  it  to  his  lips  with  a  whispered  "  God  bless 
you."  That  was  his  only  word  of  greeting. 

Presently  he  brought  her  a  low  chair  and  left  the 
room.  The  magnetism  of  her  presence,  or  the  soft 
pressure  of  her  hand  upon  Clyde's  forehead,  soothed 
and  quieted  him,  and  at  length  he  dropped  into  a 
fitful  slumber.  But  when  she  would  have  stolen 
away,  he  started  wildly,  caught  her  hand  and  drew 
her  to  her  seat  again,  and  again  closed  his  eyes.  She 
did  not  repeat  the  experiment,  but  sat  there  hour 
after  hour,  holding  his  wasted  fingers  in  a  firm,  close 
clasp.  Whether  the  harassed,  struggling  soul  recog 
nized  her  in  a  blind,  uncertain  way,  God  only 
knows. 

It  was  not  until  the  gray  dawn  of  the  morning  that 
I  bethought  me  of  Sister  Agnes,  and,  in  a  sudden 
spasm  of  wonder  and  self-reproach,  made  inquiries  of 
Dr.  Bellinger. 

"  She  is  in  her  room,"  he  said.     "  I  found  her,  at 


EXPIATION. 


257 


the  expiration  of  the  half-hour,  in  a  state  of  extreme 
nervous  excitement, — owing  probably  to  overwork, — 
and  in  imperative  need  of  rest  and  quiet.  Indeed, 
she  at  first  declared  her  determination  to  return  to 
New  York  at  once,  saying  that  she  could  not,  and 
would  not,  remain  here  even  for  a  day.  She  insisted 
upon  being  taken  back  to  Bloomfield  in  time  for  the 
midnight  train  ;  and  when  I  told  her  that  was  impos 
sible,  as  the  horses  could  not  be  spared  in  this  emer 
gency,  she  said  she  would  walk,  then, — and  actually 
put  on  her  cloak  with  that  intention.  I  began  to 
wish  the  woman  was  in  New  York  myself,  for  there 
was  an  expression  about  her  eyes  that  made  me  almost 
doubtful  of  her  own  sanity." 

"  I  wish  she  was  well  out  of  the  house,"  I  said. 
"  But  how  did  you  manage  her  ?  What  have  you 
done  ?" 

"  I  took  off  her  cloak,  and  made  her  sit  down  and 
listen  to  reason,  in  the  first  place,"  he  answered.  "  I 
told  her  that  she  was  simply  tired  and  overwrought, 
and  that  a  good  night's  rest — which  I  should  insist 
upon  her  having  before  she  saw  Clyde — would  set 
her  right.  Then  I  appealed  to  her  womanly  sympa 
thies,  told  her  how  strangely  alone  these  two  brothers 
were,  having  neither  father,  mother,  nor  sister,  and 
being  entirely  dependent  upon  the  good  offices  of 
such  heathen  as  you  and  Patsy, — and  how  much  the 
invalid  needed  just  such  a  nurse  as  herself.  Finally, 
I  scolded  her  in  my  own  behalf,  telling  her  that  she 
was  treating  me  shabbily  and  placing  me  in  a  very 
awkward  position.  She  grew  more  quiet  as  I  poured 
out  this  torrent  of  words, — and  at  length  began  to 

22* 


258  EXPIATION. 

cry.  Such  a  passion  of  tears  you  never  saw ;  and  I 
knew  that  the  victory  was  won.  After  awhile  she 
became  calmer,  and  began  to  question  me  about  Clyde 
and  Kenneth  ;  and  even  about  Mr.  Armstrong's  death, 
which  was  something  I  knew  nothing  about,  and  I 
told  her  so.  But  it  does  not  matter,  as  there  could 
have  been  no  resemblance  between  his  case  and  that 
of  Clyde.  I  believe  she  even  asked  a  question  or  two 
about  you, — supposing  you  a  member  of  the  family, 
— and  finally  said  that,  God  helping  her,  she  would 
stay  and  do  the  best  she  could." 

"  Quite  melodramatic,"  I  said,  sarcastically.  "  Well, 
after  you  had  sufficiently  gratified  her  womanish 
curiosity,  what  next  ?" 

"  Next,  Miss  Rossiter,"  bowing  deeply,  "  I  gave  her 
a  powerful  sedative,  and  made  her  promise  to  go  to 
bed  ;  where  I  have  a  profound  belief  that  she  remains 
at  this  present  moment." 

I  remained  silent.  In  my  heart  of  hearts  I  felt 
that  it  would  have  been  a  decided  relief  to  me  if  the 
good  Sister  had  carried  out  her  original  intention  and 
returned  to  her  own  Lares  et  Penates,  wherever  they 
might  be.  This  strange,  dumb  woman,  with  her 
tremors,  her  faintings,  and  her  tears,  was  not  at  all  to 
my  taste.  Dr.  Bellinger  read  my  face  and  answered 
my  unspoken  thought. 

"Do  not  judge  hastily  or  harshly,  Margaret,"  he 
said,  gravely.  "  I  confess  that  I  am  disappointed 
myself.  The  weak,  trembling  woman,  almost  in  hys 
terics,  whom  we  saw  yesterday,  is  by  no  means  the 
Sister  Agnes  whom  I  have  known  for  years,  not 
merely  as  a  ministering  angel  by  the  bedsides  of  the 


EXPIATION. 


259 


dying,  but  as  a  strong,  resolute,  practical  person,  to  be 
relied  on  to  the  very  last.  But  this  only  proves  that 
she  is  human,  like  the  rest  of  us,  and  that  she  cannot 
endure  ajl  things.  I  am  confident  that  she  will  be 
herself  again  after  a  night  of  rest,  and  that  you  will 
have  no  reason  to  doubt  my  wisdom  in  seeking  to 
retain  her.  Now,  leave  Clyde  to  Elsie  and  me,  and 
go  to  bed  yourself." 

I  obeyed,  for  I  was  indeed  thoroughly  worn  out. 
Four  hours  afterward,  when  I  returned  to  the  sick 
room,  I  found  Sister  Agnes  at  her  post,  looking  more 
like  a  picture  than  ever,  with  her  beautiful  dark  eyes, 
her  strong  yet  tender  face,  her  abundant  white  hair, 
her  quaint  head-dress,  her  soft  gray  robe,  and  her 
calm,  unhurried  ways. 

Othello's  occupation  was  gone.  In  other  words, 
Margaret  Rossiter  found  that  the  work  that  had  so 
engrossed  her  for  a  fortnight  was  taken  out  of  her 
hands  completely.  Dr.  Bellinger's  judgment  was 
indeed  amply  vindicated.  It  was  wonderful  to  see 
how  quickly  and  how  quietly  the  new  nurse  estab 
lished  her  sway  in  the  sick-chamber.  Her  control 
over  Clyde  grew  to  be  something  marvelous.  In  his 
wildest  moments,  when  the  poor,  tortured  soul  seemed 
in  deadly  conflict  with  the  demons  of  terror  and  unrest, 
her  touch,  her  gentle,  appealing  eyes,  and  a  certain 
low,  soft,  inarticulate  murmur,  like  that  of  a  mother 
crooning  to  the  babe  upon  her  breast,  of  which  she 
appeared  to  be  herself  unconscious,  would  soothe  him 
into  comparative  repose. 

This  was  generally  the  case,  but  not  always.  There 
were  times  when  for  Clyde  the  whole  universe  held 


2<5o  EXPIA  TION. 

only  Elsie,  and  when  no  presence  but  hers  could  give 
him  peace;  times  when  he  would  look  at  none  but 
her,  listen  to  no  other  voice,  receive  no  drop  of 
cordial,  no  particle  of  nourishment,  save  from  her 
hand.  So  it  happened  that  they  two  seemed  to  hold 
for  him  the  issues  of  life  and  death. 

Thus  the  time  wore  on  for  a  week.  Dr.  Bellinger, 
after  a  long  conference  with  Sister  Agnes,  had  gone 
back  to  New  York,  promising  to  return  in  a  few  days. 
The  house  was  very  still ;  and  it  seemed  to  me  that 
the  shadow  of  death  brooded  over  it.  Kenneth  was 
always  at  hand  to  render  any  necessary  service  ;  he 
seemed  to  drop  down  out  of  the  skies,  as  it  were, 
whenever  he  was  needed.  But  for  the  most  part  he 
held  himself  aloof  from  the  room  where  all  our 
thoughts  were  centred.  Perhaps  he  feared  that  his 
presence  might  be  a  disturbing  element;  perhaps  he 
could  not  bear  the  sting  of  Clyde's  wandering  words  ; 
perhaps  he  felt  that  he  could  not  be  thrown  into 
frequent  association  with  Elsie  without  unendurable 
pain  ;  perhaps  it  was  merely  a  gentlemanly  instinct 
that  led  him  to  avoid  obtruding  himself  upon  her  at 
such  a  time.  Yet,  if  such  was  the  case,  there  was 
less  danger  than  he  imagined ;  for  Elsie  was  seldom 
in  Clyde's  room,  save  when  imperatively  summoned 
by  Sister  Agnes.  She  shrank  from  Kenneth  even 
more  than  he  from  her. 

One  forenoon  I  was  in  the  kitchen,  helping  Patsy 
in  some  household  emergency. 

"  How  is  that  blue-eyed  angel  o'  yourn  this  morn 
ing  ?''  asked  that  lady,  as  she  industriously  worked 
her  butter.  "  She  hain't  quite  got  her  wings  yet,  I 


EXPIATION.  26l 

see.  Seems  to  me  it's  about  time  they  was  a- 
sprouting." 

"Who? — Elsie?  Oh,  she  is  as  well  as  usual.  I 
left  her  doing  something  for  Matty ;  I  forget  what." 

"  I  should  think  she  had  better  be  in  bed,"  rejoined 
Patsy,  giving  the  little  golden  pat  another  toss. 
"  She'll  wear  herself  out,  Miss  Rossiter,  if  you  let 
her  go  on  this  way." 

"  How  ?     What  do  you  mean  ?" 

"  Why,  being  up  so  nights.  This  Agnes  woman 
can  stand  it,  I  s'pose.  She's  used  to  it,  and  she  don't 
seem  to  mind  it  one  mite  nor  grain.  But  it's  too  much 
for  a  young  thing  like  Elsie  Meredith  !" 

"  What  in  the  world  are  you  talking  about,  Patsy  ?" 
I  said,  half  impatiently.  "  Elsie  has  not  been  over 
here  a  single  night  this  week." 

She  dropped  her  butter-ladle,  and  wheeled  round. 
"Do  you  mean  to  say  that  girl  was  not  over  here 
last  night  ?" 

"  Not  later  than  ten  o'clock." 

"  Nor  the  night  before  ?" 

"  No." 

"  Nor  the  night  before  that  ?" 

"  No.  She  stayed  here  Saturday  night.  She  has 
not  been  here  since — in  the  night." 

"  To  your  certain  knowledge  ?" 

"  To  my  certain  knowledge,"  I  replied. 

"  Well,  this  beats  me  !"  exclaimed  Patsy,  dropping 
into  a  chair. 

"  I  do  not  see  that  there  is  anything  surprising  in 
it,"  I  said.  "  Sister  Agnes  prefers  to  take  the  entire 
charge  of  Clyde  at  night,  whe  icver  he  is  quiet  enough 


262  EXPIATION. 

to  allow  it.  Elsie  is  never  there,  excepting  when  it 
can't  be  helped." 

"But  see  here,"  whispered  Patsy,  leaning  forward. 
"  Who  was  there,  if  she  wasn't  ?" 

"  Sister  Agnes,  of  course.     No  one  else." 

Patsy's  chin  sank  into  the  palm  of  her  hand,  and 
she  deliberated  for  the  space  of  a  minute. 

"  Some  one  else  was  there,"  she  said,  decidedly. 
"  You  see,  Miss  Rossiter,  I  hain't  slept  in  my  own 
room  for  more'n  a  week  back.  It  was  kind  o'  lone 
some  there ;  and,  besides,  I  wanted  to  be  near  Clyde. 
I  sleep  with  one  eye  open,  allus ;  and  I  wanted  to  be 
where  I  should  know  whether  he  was  wuss  or  not, 
without  asking.  So  I  went  into  that  little  room  that 
nobody  ever  uses,  t'other  side  o'  Clyde's.  Well, 
every  night  I  hear  somebody  a-talking,  kind  o'  low 
and  soft ;  and  as  Sister  Agnes  is  as  dumb  as  a  fish, 
it  stands  to  reason  that  it  ain't  her." 

"  It  is  very  probable  that  Kenneth  comes  down  in 
the  night,  occasionally,"  I  suggested.  "  In  fact,  I 
know  he  does." 

"  'Taint  his  voice  that  I  hear,"  she  said,  disdainfully. 
"  I  should  know  that  if  I  should  hear  it  in  Joppy. 
This  is  a  woman's  voice, — a  loving,  petting,  coaxing 
kind  of  a  tone,  not  a  bit  like  Kenneth's." 

"  Oh,  it  is  Sister  Agnes  herself,"  I  answered.  "  She 
makes  a  low,  crooning  noise  sometimes  when  she 
is  at  work  over  Clyde,  that,  in  the  next  room,  you 
might  easily  mistake  for  speech.  That  is  it,  you  may 
depenJ." 

Patsy  shook  her  head.  "  I  sha'n't  dispute  ye,  Miss 
Rossiter,  nor  gainsay  your  words.  But  if  there 


EXPIATION. 


263 


hain't  been  somebody  in  that  room  for  the  last  three 
nights  besides  Clyde  and  Sister  Agnes,  then  my 
name  ain't  Patsy.  Miss  Rossiter,  that's  the  very 
chamber  Mr.  Armstrong  died  in.  Did  you  ever 
think  on't?" 

"  I  know  it  is.  But  what  of  that  ?  I  hope  you 
are  not  going  to  be  superstitious  and  whimsical  at 
your  time  of  life,  Patsy  ?" 

"  I  do'  know  whether  I  be  or  not,"  she  said. 
"  Folks  do  tell  strange  stories,  and  I've  read  stranger 
ones.  I  never  thought  I  was  called  on  to  say  things 
wa'n't  thus  and  so  just  because  I  never  'd  seen  the 
like  with  my  own  eyes.  I  never  see  a  sperit ;  but 
because  I  hain't,  it  don't  follow  that  there  ain't  none. 
I  never  see  a  rhinoceros, — but  I  believe  them  that 
has." 

"  Nonsense  !"  I  cried.  "  But,  Patsy,  suppose  we 
admit  that  Mr.  Armstrong's  spirit  comes,  or  can  come, 
to  Clyde's  bedside.  The  voice,  you  say,  is  a  woman's 
voice  ;  and  I  cannot  imagine  our  old  friend,  whether 
in  heaven  or  on  earth,  speaking  in  any  other  than  his 
own  strong,  deep  tones.  Can  you  ?" 

She  was  silent  for  a  moment.     Then  she  said, — 

"  I  never  did  believe  in  such  things,  that's  a  fact, 
Miss  Rossiter.  But  there's  Clyde's  mother,  whom 
it's  a  kind  of  sin  to  talk  about  in  this  house.  Who 
knows  ?  Well,  I've  nothing  to  say  about  it,  and  I 
don't  calculate  to  mention  it  to  anybody  but  you. 
But  just  as  true  as  I'm  alive,  there's  somebody  in  that 
room  o'  nights  that  talks, — and  it  ain't  Clyde  Arm 
strong,  neither." 


264  EXPIATION. 


CHAPTER    XXII. 

THAT  afternoon  Clyde  was  in  one  of  his  most  rest 
less  and  excitable  moods  ;  not  so  noisy  as  he  was 
sometimes,  but  keeping  up  an  incessant  muttering 
and  murmuring.  His  utterances  were  incoherent  for 
the  most  part ;  but,  as  I  strained  my  ear  and  strove 
to  catch  the  disjointed  sentences  and  gather  the  mean 
ing  of  the  apparently  senseless  jargon,  I  discovered 
that  Kenneth  and  Elsie  were  the  burden  of  his  thought. 
He  paid  no  attention  to  anything  that  was  going  on 
about  him  as  he  lay  with  his  face  to  the  wall,  picking 
at  the  blanket  and  talking  rapidly  in  a  fierce  whisper. 
I  made  a  point  of  keeping  out  of  the  way  as  much  as 
possible,  quiet  being  so  essential ;  and  my  visits,  when 
necessary,  were  very  short.  But  now,  as  he  noticed 
my  presence  no  more  than  that  of  a  fly,  I  stood  for  a 
few  moments  leaning  against  the  bureau.  The  room 
was  darkened,  but  as  the  subdued  light  from  the  hall 
door  fell  upon  Sister  Agnes's  face,  I  noticed  that  she 
looked  exceedingly  worn.  If  her  cheeks  were  color 
less  when  she  came  to  us,  they  were  absolutely  pallid 
now. 

"This  is  too  much  for  you,  Sister  Agnes,"  I  said, 
in  a  low  voice,  as  I  laid  my  hand  upon  hers,  impul 
sively.  "  I  shall  insist  upon  taking  care  of  Clyde  to 
night  myself,  for  you  must  have  rest." 

"  No,"  she  wrote.  "  I  shall  not  leave  him.  Dr. 
Bellinger  left  him  in  my  charge.  It  would  do  no 
good,  either, — for  I  could  not  rest  away  from  him." 


EXPIATION.  265 

"  But  you  are  so  pale,"  I  said.  "  One  would  almost 
think  Clyde  was  your  brother,  your  friend,  your  child, 
you  devote  yourself  to  him  so  conscientiously.  Let 
me  at  least  share  your  watch." 

She  smiled  faintly,  while  at  the  same  time  a  swift 
cloud  of  pain  seemed  to  darken  her  face.  But  she 
shook  her  head. 

"  I  will  go  out  into  the  grounds  for  a  little  while," 
she  wrote,  "  if  you  will  stay  here.  The  fresh  air  is 
better  than  sleep  for  me."  And  she  went. 

Just  then  I  heard  Elsie's  step  in  the  hall  below.  I 
glanced  at  Clyde.  He  was  lying  as  before,  with  his 
face  to  the  wall,  still  muttering.  I  stepped  lightly  to 
the  head  of  the  stairs  and  beckoned  to  her. 

She  came  up  softly  with  her  hands  full  of  helio 
tropes  and  tea-roses,  and  laid  them  on  Clyde's  pillow. 
The  rich  perfume  stole  tenderly  upon  his  senses;  he 
ceased  to  whisper,  his  face  softened,  and  a  radiant 
smile  broke  over  it. 

"  The  angels  are  here,"  he  said,  at  length,  in  almost 
his  natural  voice.  "  I  hear  the  rustling  of  their  wings 
and  breathe  the  airs  of  Paradise." 

Elsie  placed  one  of  the  great  creamy  rosebuds  in 
his  hand. 

"  It  is  one  of  your  own  roses,  Clyde,"  she  said. 
"  See  how  beautiful  and  sweet  it  is." 

He  looked  at  her  dreamily  for  a  full  minute. 
•'  Are  you  the  angel  that  brought  it  ?"  he  then  said. 
''  But  it  is  a  lie.  I  never  had  a  rose,  never,  never ! 
If  I  had,  Kenneth  would  have  stolen  it  away  from  me. 
The  roses  are  all  his.  Everything  is  his.  He  has 
taken  everything  away  from  me." 

M  23 


266  EXPIATION. 

Oh,  the  unutterable  pathos  of  those  last  words ! 
Then,  with  a  sudden  sweep  of  his  arm,  he  tossed 
the  flowers  to  the  floor. 

"  Take  them  away !"  he  cried.  "  They  are  Ken 
neth's  !  I  won't  have  them  here  !  Let  him  put  them 
in  the  safe  and  keep  them  !" 

Elsie  quietly  moved  them  out  of  sight  with  her 
foot.  Then,  sitting  down  by  the  bedside,  she  took 
the  restless  hand  in  hers,  and  smoothed  back  the 
disordered  hair  with  a  soft,  magnetic  touch.  For  a 
moment  or  two  he  yielded  to  the  spell,  his  eyelids 
drooped,  and  I  thought  he  was  going  to  sleep.  But 
presently  he  started  wildly,  and  catching  both  her 
hands  in  his,  fixed  his  large,  burning  eyes  upon  her 
with  a  furious  frown. 

"What  do  you  bring  me  roses  for?"  he  whispered. 
"  I  want  Elsie  !  She  is  the  one  rose  of  the  world, — the 
only  flower  that  blows  worth  a  man's  care  or  thought ! 
Elsie  !  Elsie  !" 

For  a  moment  Elsie  struggled  to  release  her  hands 
from  his  clasp ;  and  then,  overcome  by  a  feeling  that 
may  have  had  a  touch  of  fear  in  it,  by  womanly  sorrow, 
and  by  her  great  pity  for  him,  she  burst  into  a  flood 
of  passionate  tears.  He  released  her  at  once, — and 
lay  back  looking  at  her  with  a  vague  wonder. 

"  What  do  you  cry  for  ?"  he  asked,  slowly. 
"  Angels  do  not  cry.  You  are  an  angel,  and  bring 
me  roses.  But  Elsie  ! — Elsie  is  a  woman, — the 
sweetest  woman  on  earth  !" 

She  had  risen  from  her  seat,  and  would  have  stolen 
away.  But  he  caught  her  dress. 

"  They  don't  want   you  up   in  heaven,"   he  said. 


EXPIATION. 


267 


"  Stay  here  !  I  want  to  ask  you  something."  And 
he  looked  furtively  around,  as  if  to  make  sure  there 
•were  no  listeners  within  hearing.  "  Did  you  ever  see 
Elsie  up  there  ?  You  would  know  her  by  the  gold  of 
her  hair,  and  by  her  eyes  that  are  bluer  than  violets." 
He  was  silent  for  a  moment  ;  then,  with  gentle 
violence,  drew  her  ear  close  to  his  mouth.  "  You 
see,"  he  went  on,  in  a  low,  confidential  tone,  "  I  think 
she  is  dead.  There  is  a  spirit  comes  to  me  in  the  night, 
and  says — but  spirits  will  lie,  you  know — that  she  is 
not.  It  is  a  spirit  that  loves  me,  and  speaks  sweet, 
tender  words  to  me.  But  spirits  will  lie,  I  tell 
you, — and  this  one  says  Elsie  is  not  dead.  I  know 
better !  Kenneth  has  killed  her  !" 

"  Oh,  no,  no  !"  cried  Elsie,  involuntarily.  "  Ken 
neth " 

"  Hush  !  hush  !"  was  the  imperious  command. 
"  You  do  not  know  anything  about  it.  Hush,  I  say ! 
and  don't  you  interrupt  me,  if  you  are  an  angel. 
Angels  will  lie, — and  spirits  !  I'll  explain  it  to  you. 
Kenneth — that's  my  brother,  you  know — he  hates 
me,  and  if  you'll  keep  the  secret  I'll  tell  you  why. 
Will  you  keep  it,  angel  ?  Swear !" 

There  was  nothing  to  do  but  to  humor  him,  and 
Elsie  bowed  her  head. 

"  Swear  !"  he  cried,  again  seizing  her  hands. 

"  I  swear,"  she  said,  faintly. 

"  Then  I'll  tell  you  the  whole  story,"  he  said. 
"  Kenneth  hates  me  because  I  love  Elsie.  Between 
you  and  me,  he  loved  her  himself, — and  that's  all  the 
trouble.  They  say  so  down  in  the  village,  and  my 
heart  tells  me  it  is  true.  He  loved  her !  and  he  has 


268  EXPIATION. 

killed  her  to  keep  her  away  from  me.  I  suspect  he 
has  thrown  her  into  the  ravine  yonder,  and  I  am  going 
there  to-night  to  find  her, — to-night,  when  the  moon 
rises  !  Angel,  will  you  go  with  me  ?  It  will  be  dark 
and  fearful  down  there,  with  my  dead  Elsie  and 
Prince, — a  horrible  white  heap, — and " 

He  stopped  and  shuddered. 

This  could  be  borne  no  longer.  I  had  kept  quiet, 
thinking  that  his  mood  would  change  in  a  moment 
or  two.  But  now  I  came  forward. 

"  Let  the  angel  go,  Clyde,"  I  said,  soothingly. 
"  Let  her  go  now,  and  she  will  come  back  to 
morrow." 

He  surveyed  me  coolly  from  head  to  foot,  still 
retaining  his  hold  upon  her. 

"  What  have  you  to  say  about  it  ?"  he  cried.  "  Who 
are  you  ?  I  have  not  done  with  the  angel  yet.  I  have 
more  to  tell  her.  Kenneth  loved  Elsie,"  he  went  on, 
rapidly,  "and  he  tried  to  make  me  give  her  up,  that 
he  might  win  her  himself!  Ah,  but  he's  a  snake  in 
the  grass  !  There's  another  thing, — wait  till  I  tell  you, 
angel,  and  then  you  may  go.  Wait !  There's  all  this 
property,  you  see.  It  belongs  to  Kenneth  and  me. 
Joint  heirs  to  millions  and  millions  of  dollars,  and  all 
the  islands  of  the  sea  !  He  loved  Elsie, — but  he  loved 
money  better,  better,  better !"  raising  his  voice  to  a 
shrill  scream.  "  Loved  money  better,  I  say, — and  so 
he  killed  her  !  Thinks  I'm  going  to  die  and  let  him 
have  it  all  ?  Ha,  ha,  ha !  I'll  thwart  him  yet !  I 
shall  live  till  I  am  as  old  as  Methuselah  !  Die  ?  I 
die?  Humph!  But  go  now,  angel !  Away!  I've 
done  with  you  !" 

23* 


EXPIATION.  269 

He  pushed  her  from  him  with  sudden  violence,  and 
fell  back  upon  the  pillow,  as  helpless  as  a  child. 

"  Go,  quick  !"  I  whispered.  "  Get  out  of  his  sight, 
and  send  Sister  Agnes  in  !"  I  had  not  dared  to  leave 
the  room  to  call  her  myself. 

Elsie  fled  from  the  chamber, — to  meet  Kenneth  in 
the  doorway.  How  much  had  he  heard?  One 
glance  at  his  face  told  her  that  he  had  heard  all.  His 
whole  tortured  soul  looked  out  of  the  eyes  that  fast 
ened  upon  hers  in  mute  appeal. 

Elsie  was  not  demonstrative.  She  was  not  a  woman 
given  to  sudden  gusts  of  emotion.  Sweet  and  tender 
as  she  was,  I  had  sometimes  thought  her  a  little  too 
statue-like  in  her  maidenly  repose.  I  had  sometimes 
thought  she  needed  just  another  spark  of  the  Pro 
methean  fire.  But  now,  whether  Clyde  had  "  builded 
wiser  than  he  knew,"  and  through  his  wild  assertions 
and  accusations  had  revealed  to  her  more  than  he  him 
self  dreamed  of;  or  whether,  by  some  subtle  clairvoy 
ance,  she  looked  through  the  mask  of  circumstance 
and  conventionality,  and  read  for  the  first  time  the 
true  story  of  Kenneth  Armstrong's  love,  its  self-abne 
gation  and  its  anguish,  I  know  not.  This  I  do  know. 

She  met  him,  as  I  said,  in  the  doorway.  His  lips 
moved  in  a  vain  attempt  to  speak.  The  soul  of  the 
man  cried  out  for  vindication,  for  justification,  but  his 
tongue  was  palsied. 

She  drew  him  into  the  hall ;  she  looked  for  one 
moment  into  his  eyes.  Then,  as  if  borne  away  by  an 
irresistible  impulse,  she  threw  her  arms  about  his 
neck,  and  laid  her  wet  cheek  to  his, — nay,  more,  she 
drew  down  his  face  till  his  lips  touched  hers. 


2/0 


EX  PI  A  TION. 


"  Kenneth  !  Kenneth  !"  she  whispered,  "  do  not 
think  I  mind  his  dreadful  words,  or  that  I  do  not 
know  how  hard  it  is  for  you  to  bear  them  !  But,  oh  ! 
it  is  not  Clyde's  self  that  speaks.  Forgive  him, 
Kenneth !" 

It  was  the  strongest  possible  proof  of  the  innate  noble 
ness  and  delicacy  of  Kenneth  Armstrong's  nature,  that 
he  did  nothing  to  wound  or  alarm  her  then ;  nothing 
that  should  make  her  painfully  conscious  that  she 
had  given  him  a  caress  that  he  would  not  have  dared 
to  offer  her.  He  did  not  clasp  her  to  his  heart,  he 
did  not  frighten  her  by  protestations  or  by  explana 
tions.  An  ineffable  tenderness  drove  the  anguish 
from  his  eyes  ;  his  set  lips  melted  to  a  softer  curve, 
and  a  sudden  flush  of  color  brightened  his  face. 

"  I  cannot  forgive  him,"  he  said,  softly,  "  for  there 
is  nothing  to  forgive  in  my  poor  Clyde.  If  you  trust 
me,  I  can  bear  everything  else." 

She  had  withdrawn  her  clinging  arms,  as  uncon 
sciously,  in  the  deep  feeling  of  the  moment,  as  if  she 
had  really  been  the  angel  Clyde  had  called  her. 
Kenneth  raised  her  white  hand  reverently  to  his  lips 
and  kissed  it. 

Then  she  glided  down-stairs  and  out  of  the  house. 


EXPIATION.  271 


CHAPTER    XXIII. 

CLYDE'S  wild  words  to  Elsie  that  afternoon  were  the 
last  that  he  spoke  on  earth.  In  the  course  of  an  hour 
he  fell  into  a  state  of  profound  stupor,  like  that  which 
marked  the  beginning  of  his  illness.  It  continued 
through  the  night.  He  scarcely  breathed  :  there  was 
hardly  a  heart-beat  perceptible.  The  morning,  to  our 
great  relief,  brought  Dr.  Bellinger. 

He  looked  at  Clyde,  touched  his  hands,  his  feet, 
and  bent  his  ear  to  the  pale,  parted  lips.  Then  he 
shook  his  head,  and  left  the  room,  while  Sister 
Agnes's  great  dark  eyes  watched  him  searchingly. 

I  followed  him. 

"Well,  doctor?" 

"  There  is  no  hope  for  him,  poor  fellow !"  he 
answered.  "  Indeed,  there  has  hardly  been  any  from 
the  first.  I  saw  that  from  the  beginning  of  the  attack. 
But  the  issues  of  life  and  death  are  not  in  our  hands 
— and  I  confess  I  have  myself  hoped  against  hope, — 
relying  upon  his  youth  and  strong  constitution.  It  is 
all  over  now,  however.  He  will  die." 

"Soon?"  I  asked.  ,1  had  feared  this, — yet  with 
what  a  shock  the  certainty  came  at  last ! 

"  Before  another  morning,"  he  answered.  "  He 
may  linger  for  a  few  hours,  but  he  will  never  rally 
again." 

"  Will  he  not  have  a  lucid  interval,  doctor  ?  Will 
he  not  be  himself  for  one  moment  before " 

I  could  say  no  more. 


2/2 


EXPIATION'. 


"  Before  he  goes  to  the  arms  of  infinite  love  and 
pity,  Margaret,"  said  Dr.  Bellinger,  solemnly,  yet  ten 
derly.  "  It  is  not  probable.  Still,  the  cloud  may  be 
lifted  for  a  moment.  Where  is  Kenneth  ?" 

I  have  said  that  Kenneth  had  avoided  Clyde's  room 
during  his  illness,  seldom  remaining  in  it  except  at 
such  times  as  he  was  imperatively  needed.  Now, 
however,  when  the  doctor  had  told  him  that  death 
was  already  in  the  chamber,  he  came  quietly  in,  and 
took  Sister  Agnes's  place  at  the  head  of  the  bed,  close 
by  Clyde's  pillow.  For  a  moment,  to  my  great  sur 
prise,  she  seemed  inclined  to  resist.  Her  breast 
heaved ;  her  face  flushed,  then  blanched  to  marble 
paleness ;  she  stretched  out  her  arms  with  a  sudden 
motion  that  had  in  it  a  world  of  pain  and  yearning, 
and  her  swimming  eyes  went  from  Kenneth  to  Clyde 
in  a  silent  appeal.  But  he  gently  put  her  to  one  side. 

"  This  is  my  place,"  he  said.  "  He  is  more  to  me 
than  to  any  one  else  on  earth  ;  and  I  will  go  down 
into  the  dark  valley  with  him  as  far  as  I  may.  He 
must  feel  the  clasp  of  my  loving,  human  hand  until 
death  unclasps  it.  Let  me  pass,  please,  Sister  Agnes." 

Her  lips  worked  convulsively.  It  almost  seemed 
as  if  she  were  about  to  speak.  Then  she  moved 
silently  away,  leaving  her  place  to  Kenneth. 

The  house  was  silent  as  the  grave  to  which  one  of 
its  young  masters  was  hastening.  Out-of-doors  the 
warm  spring  sunshine  was  wakening  the  earth  from 
its  long  sleep.  The  air  was  full  of  soft  murmurs, — 
inarticulate,  yet  glad.  In  sheltered  nooks  the  young 
green  grass  was  springing.  Clyde's  garden  was  full 
of  prophecies  of  the  coming  summer. 


EXPIATION. 


273 


But  he, — our  beautiful,  wayward  Clyde, —  our 
impulsive,  loving,  headstrong,  passionate  Clyde, — 
whom  we  loved  all  the  more  deeply,  perhaps,  for  the 
anxious  hours  he  had  caused  us, — ah  !  whither  was 
he  drifting  ? 

Friends  !  I  was  not  Clyde  Armstrong's  mother,  nor 
his  sister.  I  was  not  bound  to  him  even  by  remoter 
ties  of  kindred ;  and  my  whole  life  has  been  so  apart 
from  all  these  close  relationships  that  it  may  be  I  have 
no  conception  of  the  love  that  grows  out  of  them. 
But  even  I  could  hardly  have  borne  those  hours  of 
watching  and  waiting  if  Christ  had  not  spoken  out 
of  the  darkness, — if  He  had  not  stood  with  ,  out 
stretched  arms  upon  the  shore  of  the  unknown  land 
whither  Clyde  was  hastening,  crying,  "  Come  unto 
me,  all  ye  that  labor  and  are  heavy-laden,  and  I  will 
give  you  rest."  This  has  not  been  a  so-called  "  reli 
gious"  story.  Thither  church  nor  priest  have  figured 
in  its  pages ;  and  the  deeper  and  holier  experiences 
between  the  soul  and  its  Creator  have  never  been  so 
much  as  touched  upon.  I  have  given  you  no  mix 
ture,  palatable  or  otherwise,  of  religion  and  love- 
making  ;  no  pellet  of  theology,  no  globule  of  doc 
trine  half  buried  in  the  sweets  of  romance.  I  have 
not  thought  it  necessary  to  tell  you  every  time  we 
said  our  prayers  or  attended  divine  service.  But  I 
want  to  say  here,  once  for  all,  that  every  one  of  us, — 
from  Dr.  Bellinger  down  to  Dennis, — however  widely 
our  creeds  might  differ  in  minor  matters,  stood  fast 
in  the  grand  old  faiths  that  have  sustained  and  com 
forted  countless  generations ;  I  want  to  say  that  we 
all  believed,  with  Paul,  in  Christ  and  him  crucified. 
M* 


274 


EXPIA  TION. 


The  hours  wore  on  until  it  was  sunset, — a  won 
drous,  golden  sunset,  such  as  one  sees  but  twice  or 
thrice  in  a  lifetime.  No  fear  of  the  garish  daylight 
now.  It  will  not  torture  the  sensitive  eyeballs,  nor 
waken  to  keener  pain  the  thrilling  nerves.  Dr.  Bel 
linger  stepped  to  the  window  and  drew  aside  the  cur 
tain,  letting  the  full  glory  of  the  dying  day  stream 
into  every  corner  of  the  room. 

There  was  nothing  to  be  done.  There  had  been 
nothing  to  do  for  hours  but  to  moisten  Clyde's  lips 
occasionally,  and  smooth  back  the  tangled  hair  when 
it  fell  low  upon  his  forehead.  Sister  Agnes  sat  at  the 
foot  of  the  bed,  covering  her  eyes  with  her  hand. 
Elsie  crouched  at  my  feet,  with  her  face  buried  in  my 
lap.  Patsy  leaned  against  the  door-post,  silent  and 
almost  stern  in  her  sorrow.  Dennis,  in  the  hall, 
bowed  his  head  upon  his  hands  and  whispered 
prayers  for  the  parting  soul. 

As  for  me,  it  seemed  as  if  all  the  desires  of  my 
life  were  merged  in  one  great  longing, — a  longing 
that  in  an  intenser  form  I  read  in  every  lineament 
of  Kenneth's  face.  For  weeks  Clyde  had  not  once 
breathed  his  brother's  name  uncoupled  with  threats, 
reproaches,  and  the  bitterest  accusations.  Would  he 
go  into  the  other  world  without  giving  one  sign  or 
token  that  his  love  was  stronger  than  the  hallucina 
tions  of  disease  and  the  creeping  chill  of  death  ? 

The  sun  dropped  lower  and  lower ;  its  last  red  ray 
fell  upon  Clyde's  clustering  curls,  lighting  them  up 
as  with  a  glory. 

The  figure  that  had  lain  motionless  so  long  stirred 
feebly,  the  pale  lips  parted,  the  dim  eyes  opened, 


EXPIA  TION. 


2/5 


and  with  a  low  cry  of  loving  recognition,  the  wasted 
arms  were  raised  as  by  a  mighty  effort  and  clasped 
about  the  neck  that  Kenneth  bowed  to  receive  them. 
The  lips  of  the  brothers  met, — and  with  one  long 
sigh  Clyde  passed  behind  the  veil. 

With  all  his  faults,  his  weaknesses,  his  inconsisten 
cies,  the  warm  human  love  went  with  him  to  the  very 
confines  of  the  unknown.  Did  not  the  divine  love 
meet  him  there,  encompassing  the  poor  soul  in  a  still 
diviner  tenderness  ? 

In  my  heart  of  hearts  I  thanked  God  that  Kenneth 
had  Clyde's  last  look,  his  last  thought.  I  was  glad 
it  was  not  I,  not  Sister  Agnes,  not  Elsie,  even,  who 
caught  the  last  radiance  of  his  love-lighted  eyes.  That 
belonged  to  Kenneth,  and  he  alone  received  it. 

We  were  all  silent  and  motionless  for  awhile.  There 
was  a  little  low  sobbing  from  Elsie,  a  long,  wavering 
sigh  from  Patsy.  That  was  all.  At  last  Kenneth 
laid  Clyde  back  upon  the  pillow  and  softly  closed  the 
eyes  that  should  answer  his  no  more.  Then  he  left 
the  room,  and  I  saw  him  no  more  that  night. 

Sister  Agnes's  head  had  fallen  forward  upon  the 
bed.  When  I  rose  and  bent  over  her  with  one  hand 
upon  her  shoulder  to  whisper  a  few  words  in  her  ear, 
I  discovered  that  she  had  fainted.  Dr.  Bellinger 
looked  at  her  for  a  moment  in  a  sort  of  consterna 
tion. 

"  We  shall  have  no  Sister  Agnes  at  St.  Elizabeth's 
much  longer,  if  this  state  of  things  continues,"  he 
said.  "She  told  me  this  morning  that  she  should  go 
back  to  New  York  to-morrow.  But  I  shall  forbid  it, 
peremptorily.  She  ought  to  stay  here  and  recruit 


2/6 


EXPIATION. 


for  a  month  at  least,  before  she  takes  up  her  work 
again." 

We  took  her  to  her  room,  and  as  soon  as  she  showed 
signs  of  returning  consciousness,  left  her  to  herself, 
feeling  that  entire  repose  was  the  medicine  she  needed. 
The  doctor  said  he  considered  it  doubtful  if  she  left 
her  bed  in  a  week. 

But  the  next  morning  she  was  up  as  usual,  wan 
dering  about  the  house  and  grounds  in  her  strange, 
silent  way.  She  quietly  accepted  Dr.  Bellinger's 
decision  as  to  her  return  to  New  York.  Indeed,  I 
fancied  it  was  a  kind  of  relief  to  feel  that  she  was 
compelled  to  remain  in  this  quiet  retreat  for  a  few 
days  longer.  Yet  as  she  stood  that  forenoon  upon 
the  steps  of  the  conservatory,  with  the  bright  sun 
light  falling  upon  her  face  and  touching  the  silvery 
hair  that  gleamed  beneath  the  folds  of  her  nun-like 
cap,  I  could  but  notice  how  much  older  she  looked 
than  when  she  came  to  Greyholt  a  fortnight  before. 

I  do  not  think  she  spoke  to  any  one — communicated 
with  any  one,  I  should  rather  say — that  day,  save  to 
return  the  morning  greetings,  and  to  reply  briefly  to 
Dr.  Bellinger's  inquiries.  She  avoided  Kenneth,  she 
avoided  Elsie,  she  avoided  me.  But  some  strange 
attraction  seemed  to  draw  her  constantly  to  the  silent, 
shadowy  room  where  Clyde  lay  crowned  with  the 
royal  majesty  of  death. 

It  was  no  wonder.  No  king  upon  his  throne  was 
ever  half  so  kingly  as  Clyde  Armstrong  upon  his  bier. 
The  emaciation,  the  look  of  suffering  and  unrest,  the 
pain  and  longing, — all  had  disappeared,  and  he  lay 
there  like  a  young  god  asleep.  Sister  Agnes  had 


EXPIATION. 


277 


not  seen  him  in  life  until  after  pain  and  weariness 
had  robbed  his  young  face  of  much  of  its  uncommon 
beauty.  It  was  not  strange,  I  thought,  that  now  she 
should  awaken  tc  a  full  sense  of  its  power,  and  hover, 
in  spite  of  herself,  about  the  room  its  presence  con 
secrated. 

Yet  so  fearful  was  she  of  intruding,  or  of  witnessing 
the  grief  that  should  be  sacred  from  the  eyes  of 
strangers,  that  when  any  of  us  who  loved  him  entered 
the  chamber,  she  glided  swiftly  away  like  a  spirit,  her 
unrustling  gray  robes  and  noiseless  footsteps  scarce 
breaking  the  silence. 

There  was  no  studied  arrangement  of  flowers  about 
him  as  he  lay  in  his  coffin ;  not  a  wreath  or  a  harp 
or  a  cross,  beautiful  and  emblematic  as  they  all  are. 
Somehow  they  did  not  seem  suited  to  Clyde.  But 
Elsie  brought  all  the  rare,  sweet  flowers  that  he  loved, 
not  restricting  herself  to  the  conventional  white,  and 
laid  them  here  and  there  in  rich  profusion,  till  the 
whole  air  was  loaded  with  fragrance  rarer  than  ever 
fell  from  Eastern  censers.  In  his  pale  hands  she 
placed  only  a  cluster  of  white  violets. 

I  suppose  all  Altona  came  to  that  funeral.  God 
forbid  that  I  should  say  that  a  mere  idle  curiosity  was 
the  sole  motive  that  impelled  such  throngs  to  travel 
over  the  hills  and  along  the  winding  roads  that  day 
and  to  fill  at  last  every  inch  of  available  space  in  and 
about  Greyholt.  But  it  cannot  be  denied  that  it  had 
much  to  do  with  it.  There  was  a  mystery  about 
the  Armstrongs.  There  had  been  something  not 
easy  to  comprehend  in  the  relations  of  the  two 
brothers ;  there  had  been  hints  and  insinuations  of 

24 


2/8 


EXPIA  TION. 


unfair  dealing  on  the  part  of  Kenneth,  and  a  large 
part  of  the  town  was  agog  to  see  how  he  would 
carry  himself.  Then  a  majority  of  the  people  had 
never  yet  had  an  opportunity  to  cross  the  threshold 
of  that  door,— ^and  now  was  their  time.  There  was 
a  vague  curiosity  to  see  the  house, — merely  a  gentle 
man's  country  residence,  by  no  means  grand  or  mag 
nificent,  but  about  which  such  fabulous  stories  had 
been  told.  Some  came  out  of  pure  friendliness,  out 
of  hearty  sympathy  for  the  elder  brother,  and  a 
neighborly  desire  to  join  in  the  last  sad  offices  toward 
one  who  had  for  years  brightened  their  hills  and 
valleys  with  his  presence.  For  Clyde,  Altona  had 
only  pity  and  sincere  regret.  Nevertheless,  many 
came  to  his  funeral,  eager  simply,  as  were  the  Athen 
ians  of  old,  to  see  and  to  hear  some  new  thing. 

Those  who  came  to  study  Kenneth  must  have  gone 
away  no  wiser  than  they  came.  All  through  the  ser 
vices,  which  were  exquisitely  simple  and  tender,  he 
sat  at  the  head  of  the  coffin,  leaning  his  brow  upon 
his  hand,  and  with  his  eyes  fixed  upon  Clyde's  face. 
I  do  not  think  he  knew  whether  there  were  ten  per 
sons  in  the  room,  or  ten  hundred.  He  made  no 
demonstration,  no  parade  of  his  sorrow ;  but  there 
were  lines  of  grief  upon  his  forehead  and  about  his 
mouth  that  the  most  careless  observer  could  not 
have  failed  to  recognize. 

Yet — shall  I  say  it  ? — I,  who  knew  him  so  well,  read 
something  else  there,  underlying  all  the  sorrow. 
There  was  a  certain  air  of  relief, — a  restful  look  that 
I  had  not  seen  since  Mr.  Armstrong  died. 

The  day  on  which  Clyde  died  had  been  warm  and 


EXPIATION.  279 

spring-like.  That  on  which  he  was  buried  was  raw 
and  cold,  with  sudden  dashes  of  rain,  and  wild,  sweep 
ing  winds  that  belonged  to  November  rather  than  to 
April.  No  one  of  us  thought  for  a  moment  that 
Sister  Agnes  would  care  to  go  to  the  graveyard,  far 
off  on  a  bleak  hillside ;  and  no  arrangements  were 
made  for  her  conveyance  thither.  She  stood  in  the 
doorway  when  the  procession  moved  off,  with  her 
gray  hood  drawn  closely  about  her  face,  hiding  every 
thing  but  her  large,  mournful  eyes, — eyes  whose 
singularly  strong  resemblance  to  a  pair  that  I  had 
surely  seen  somewhere  else,  though  where  I  could 
not  tell,  had  haunted  and  perplexed  me  ever  since  she 
came  to  Altona.  When  we  reached  the  last  point 
in  the  road  from  which  Greyholt  was  visible,  I  turned 
and  looked  back.  The  gray,  silent  figure  was  still 
watching  us. 

It  was  all  over  at  last,  and  Clyde  lay  in  calmest 
slumber  close  beside  the  father  who  had  so  loved  him. 
Then,  slowly,  sadly,  silently,  shivering  in  the  fierce 
blasts  that  swept  down  from  the  mountains,  we 
returned  to  the  desolate  house. 

Returned  to  find  Sister  Agnes  kneeling,  a  huddled 
gray  heap,  in  the  very  spot  where  Clyde's  coffin 
had  stood,  and  over  which  Mr.  Armstrong's  por 
trait  looked  down  upon  her  with  earnest,  compelling 
eyes. 

She  sprang  to  her  feet  as  she  heard  our  steps. 
"  Oh,  God !"  she  cried,  throwing  up  her  hands  and 
clasping  them  above  her  head,  "  oh,  my  God  !  I  can 
bear  this  burden  no  longer !  I  must  speak  !  Clyde, 
— my  son, — my  son  !" 


28o  EXPIATION. 

Had  the  grave  opened  and  given  up  its  dead, — had 
Clyde,  bound  hand  and  foot  in  his  shroud,  stood  in 
bodily  presence  before  us, — we  could  not  have  been 
more  dismayed,  more  overwhelmed.  We  were 
dumb,  even  while  the  dumb  spake.  I  looked  at 
Kenneth.  The  blood  had  all  left  his  face ;  and  in 
voluntarily  I  put  out  my  hand  and  guided  him  to 
the  seat  for  which  he  was  blindly  groping. 

As  for  Sister  Agnes  herself,  her  strength  had 
expended  itself  in  those  few  words  ;  and  she  stood 
before  us  with  her  face  buried  in  her  hands,  trembling 
as  one  in  an  ague-fit.  Impostor  and  hypocrite  as  I 
believed  her  to  be,  I  still  pitied  her  as  she  withered 
beneath  our  searching  glances. 

Patsy  was  the  first  to  come  to  our  relief.  "  Crazy 
as  a  loon  !"  she  said,  decidedly,  advancing  toward 
her  with  the  tread  of  a  grenadier.  "Never,  mind 
her,  Kenneth.  Crazy  as  a  loon  !  I  have  mistrusted 
it  before,  and  now  I  know  it  for  certain.  Help 
me  to  get  her  up-stairs,  doctor.  She's  out  of  her 
head,  to  be  sure, — but  she's  found  her  voice  mighty 
sudden,  it  seems  to  me."  And  she  would  have  laid 
violent  hands  upon  her,  bearing  her  off,  will  she 
nill  she. 

But  Sister  Agnes  drew  back  with  an  air  of  inde 
scribable  sweetness  and  dignity,  lifting  her  tear- 
drenched  face,  and  looking  round  upon  us,  while  she 
grasped  the  back  of  a  chair  for  support. 

"  I  am  not  mad,  Patsy,"  she  said ;  "  though  it  is  not 
strange  that  you  think  so.  I  have  feared  myself, 
since  I  came  into  this  house,  that  my  wits  would 
leave  me, — so  much  have  I  dreaded,  so  much  have  I 


EXPIATION.  28l 

endured.  But  I  am  perfectly  sane.  You  ought  to 
know,  doctor.  Look  in  my  eyes " 

"  Do  not  appeal  to  me,"  interrupted  Dr.  Bellinger. 
"  If  you  are  not  crazy,  you  ought  to  be.  Your  tongue 
seems  glib  enough,  woman.  Why  have  you  pretended 
to  me  for  all  these  years  that  you  could  not  speak  ?" 

"  I  have  never  told  you  that  I  could  not  speak," 
she  answered.  "I  have  simply  refrained  from  speak 
ing,  and  you  and  others  took  it  for  granted  that  I 
could  not  speak.  Think  for  a  moment,  doctor.  Is  it 
not  so  ?" 

He  was  silent  for  a  second  or  two.  "It  amounts 
to  the  same  thing,"  he  said,  "  and  brands  you  as 
an  impostor.  Your  motive  for  this  deceit  is  incon 
ceivable." 

In  the  doctor's  indignation  at  the  fraud  that  he 
considered  had  been  practiced  upon  himself,  he  quite 
forgot  what  she  had  said.  That  she  should  have 
spoken  at  all  was  her  offense  in  his  eyes. 

But  now  Kenneth  rose  and  slowly  approached  her. 
"  What  do  you  mean  ?"  he  asked,  in  a  voice  I  hardly 
recognized.  "  Who  are  you  ?  or  whom  do  you  claim 
to  be  ?" 

"  So  may  God  help  me,  and  save  my  soul  in  its 
extremity,"  she  cried,  "  I  am  Clyde  Armstrong's 
mother !  I  was  the  lawful  wife  of  him  whose  por 
trait  hangs  upon  the  wall  yonder, — your  father,  John 
Armstrong !" 

Kenneth's  eyes  flashed  fire,  and  he  drew  a  step 
nearer  to  the  woman,  with  his  hand  uplifted,  as  if  he 
would  have  crushed  her  into  silence. 

She  faced  him  bravely,  never  flinching  from  his 
24* 


282  EXPIATION. 

piercing  gaze.  Presently  his  arm  dropped,  and  a  half 
smile  flitted  about  his  mouth  for  an  instant,  as  he 
turned  to  Dr.  Bellinger  and  addressed  his  next  words 
to  him. 

"  Patsy  is  right,"  he  said.  "  She  is  insane.  Clyde's 
mother,  my  father's  second  wife,  died  in  the  June 
of  1851.  I  was  present  at  the  funeral,  and  saw  her 
remains  placed  in  the  family  vault  at  Greenwood 
Cemetery.  I  have  been  there  since,  and  seen  the 
hermetically-sealed  coffin,  and  read  her  name,  '  Alice 
Armstrong,'  upon  the  silver  plate.  This  disposes  of 
the  whole  question.  Be  gentle  with  the  woman  to 
night,  Patsy,  and  take  good  care  of  her,  for  humanity's 
sake,  and  because  she  did  all  she  could  for  Clyde. 
To-morrow  we  will  see  what  can  be  done  for  her." 
And  he  turned  to  leave  the  room. 

But  Sister  Agnes  caught  his  arm  and  held  him 
fast.  "  Listen  to  me,  Kenneth  Armstrong !"  she  cried. 
"  Every  word  you  have  spoken  is  the  truth,  so  far  as 
you  are  concerned.  But  what  if  I  should  tell  you 
that  Alice  Armstrong  was  a  living,  breathing  woman 
at  the  time  those  grand  obsequies  were  performed 
over  her  pretended  remains  ?  What  if  I  should  tell 
you  she  was  not  in  the  coffin  that  was  borne  to  Green 
wood  with  so  much  pomp  and  circumstance?" 

"  '  A  living,  breathing  woman,'  "  said  Kenneth,  in  a 
low,  intense  voice,  "  when  I  know  that " 

He  stopped, — glanced  from  one  to  the  other  of  us 
with  a  new,  strange  trouble  in  his  eyes,  trembled 
violently,  and  sank  into  the  chair  that  Patsy  pushed 
toward  him,  burying  his  face  in  his  hands. 

What  did    all  this   mean  ?      Was   there,   indeed, 


EXPIATION. 


283 


"method  in  this  madness"?  When  we  thought  of 
all  that  had  been  dark  and  mysterious  in  the  lives  of 
these  persons, — of  the  shadow  that  had  overhung  the 
memory  of  Clyde's  mother, — and  then  remembered 
the  long  years  during  which  this  woman,  whose 
claims  seemed  to  be  so  preposterous,  had  kept  some 
vow  of  perpetual  silence,  devoting  herself  to  good 
deeds,  and  yet,  in  a  measure,  isolating  herself  from 
her  kind, — was  it  any  wonder  that  we  looked  in  one 
another's  faces  only  to  read  there  a  vague  dread  and 
bewilderment  ? 

At  length  Dr.  Bellinger  spoke,  laying  his  hand 
upon  Kenneth's  shoulder.  "  Let  this  whole  matter 
drop  for  to-day,"  he  said,  with  an  air  of  authority. 
"  If  there  is  any  mystery  to  be  unraveled  here,  it  can 
be  reached  only  by  clear  heads  and  measurably  quiet 
hearts.  The  day  has  been  full  of  grief  and  excite 
ment.  None  of  us  are  capable  of  grappling  with  new 
difficulties.  Let  this  all  rest  for  to-night." 

Kenneth  rose  and  walked  to  the  window,  saying, 
simply,  "  Wait !"  when  our  little  group  would  have 
retired.  He  seemed  to  be  gathering  strength  to  say 
something  that  must  be  said.  At  length  he  turned. 

"  My  friends,  Dr.  Bellinger  is  right.  I  have  no 
strength  to  combat  this  woman's  claims  to-night. 
But  to-morrow  I  will  tell  you  all  I  know  about  my 
poor  Clyde's  mother,  though  it  will  compel  me  to 
betray  secrets  that  it  has  been  the  study  of  my  life 
to  keep,  and  which  I  thought  were  buried  in  his 
grave.  It  is  due  to  you,  now,  that  you  should  know 
all." 

He  passed  from  the  room,  glancing  neither  to  the 


284 


EXPIA  TION. 


right  nor  to  the  left.  Elsie,  who  was  sitting  in  a  low 
chair  near  the  door  with  tearful,  troubled  eyes,  rose 
to  meet  him  as  he  drew  near,  and  placed  in  his  hand 
the  few  faded  violets  that  she  had  taken  from  Clyde's 
cold  ringers. 

He  raised  them  passionately  to  his  lips,  his  face 
softened,  the  stern  lines  about  his  mouth  relaxed,  and 
a  quick  rush  of  tears  relieved  the  tension  of  the  over 
strained  nerves.  More  than  one  of  us  thanked  God 
as  we  saw  it. 

I  took  Sister  Agnes  home  with  me  that  night.  It 
seemed  to  me  that  Kenneth's  house  was  no  place  for 
her  until  this  strange  question  was  decided. 


CHAPTER    XXIV. 

IT  is  not  probable  that  any  of  us  slept  much  that 
night.  Sister  Agnes  was  quiet,  grave,  dignified,  yet 
with  a  deep  humility  of  manner  that  impressed  me 
strangely.  But  I  think  I  should  have  been  better 
pleased  with  her  if  she  had  been  more  demonstrative, 
— if  she  had  wept  and  sighed  and  moaned.  If  she 
had  been  compelled  by  sheer  stress  of  agony  and 
mother-love  to  betray  the  secret  she  had  kept  so  long, 
was  it  not  strange  that  she  should  so  soon  have  grown 
placid  again,  like  the  sea  after  a  storm  ? 

I  said  as  much  to  Elsie,  who  shared  my  room. 
"  On  the  contrary,"  she  answered,  "  it  seems  to  me 
entirely  in  keeping  with  what  we  already  know  of 


EXPIA  TION. 


285 


her.  A  woman  who  has  self-control  enough  to  lead 
the  life  she  has  led  for  years,  simulating  dumbness 
in  this  unaccountable  way,  can  do  anything.  Think 
what  command  over  one's  self  one  must  have, — to  be 
able  to  speak,  yet  for  weary  years  to  utter  no  syllable 
of  love  or  hate,  remorse  or  fear !  Then — admitting 
for  one  moment  that  her  story  is  true  (which  of  course 
I  do  not) — it  is  only  just  to  remember  that  the  first 
cry  of  confession  must  have  brought  relief;  it  must 
have  been  the  dropping  of  a  burden  which  had  grown 
to  be  beyond  endurance." 

Morning  came  at  last ;  and  soon  after  breakfast,  in 
obedience  to  a  summons  from  Dr.  Bellinger,  we  three 
women  ascended  the  hill  and  entered  the  library  at 
Greyholt. 

Elsie  went  straight  up  to  Kenneth  and  said  some 
thing  in  a  low  tone, — too  low  to  reach  other  ears. 

"  No,"  he  answered.  "  You,  of  all  others,  must 
hear  what  I  have  to  say.  If  you  will  remain,  I  shall 
be  eternally  grateful,  whether " 

He  did  not  finish  the  sentence,  but  led  Elsie  to  a 
seat,  bowed  gravely  to  Sister  Agnes, — for,  courteous 
gentleman  that  he  was,  he  could  not  forget  her 
womanhood,  even  while  he  believed  her  insane  or  an 
impostor, — and  gave  me  a  faint  little  smile  of  recog 
nition. 

As  for  the  charge  of  insanity,  the  last  twenty-four 
hours  had  settled  that  point  for  me.  Whatever  else 
might  be  said  about  the  woman,  she  was  not  crazy. 

"  Will  you  call  Patsy,  Miss  Rossiter  ?" 

I  obeyed  silently.  When  we  were  all  together, 
Kenneth  asked,  turning  to  Sister  Agnes, — 


286  EXPIA  TION. 

"  Am  I  to  understand  that  this  morning,  in  the  full 
glare  of  daylight,  you  are  prepared  to  maintain  the 
claims  you  made  yesterday  ?" 

She  bowed  her  head  in  token  of  assent,  while  her 
lips,  but  not  her  voice,  said,  "  I  am." 

"  Then,"  he  went  on,  his  cheek  growing,  if  it  were 
possible,  yet  a  shade  paler, — "  then  you  compel  me  to 
declare  that  those  claims  are  utterly  preposterous, — 
too  absurd  to  merit  consideration.  You  compel  me 
to  say,  in  support  of  my  assertion  as  to  her  death  and 
burial,  not  only  that  Alice  Armstrong,  my  father's 
second  wife,  is  dead,  but  that  in  a  fit  of  temporary  in 
sanity  my  poor  brother  Clyde  killed  her, — killed  her 
instantly.  She  died  without  a  word  or  a  sign.  Now 
tell  me,  can  the  dead  rise  again?  Can  this  be  she?" 

I  shall  not  undertake  to  repeat  the  various  ex 
clamations  of  pity,  of  sorrow,  even  of  horror,  that 
rose  from  our  little  group.  Sister  Agnes  alone  be 
trayed  no  surprise.  Neither  did  she  attempt  to  reply 
to  Kenneth.  Apparently  she  was  listening  for  what 
else  he  had  to  say. 

"  I  thank  God,"  he  continued,  after  awhile,  "  that 
the  necessity  for  this  revelation  did  not  come  during 
Clyde's  lifetime.  I  thank  Him  to-day  that  my  brother 
is  dead ;  that  he  lies  where  no  whisper  of  human  sin 
or  sorrow  can  disturb  his  sacred  rest.  But  as  for  you, 
my  friends,  now  that  I  have  told  you  so  much,  I  must 
tell  you  more.  Miss  Rossiter,  Patsy,  you  both  re 
member  the  night  my  father  died  ?" 

"  Even  to  its  slightest  incident,"  I  answered ;  while 
Patsy  silently  assented. 

"  Until  that  night,"  said  Kenneth,  "  I  was  entirely 


EXPIA  TION. 


287 


ignorant  of  what  I  am  about  to  tell  you.  I,  as  well  as 
others,  wondered  at  my  father's  choice  of  a  home  for 
his  old  age.  Clyde's  health,  it  seemed  to  me,  did  not 
require  the  rigorous  seclusion  in  which  he  lived;  nor 
could  I  see  how  it  was  to  be  benefited  thereby.  I 
was  somewhat  restive  under  the  restraints  placed 
upon  myself.  I  was  naturally  social,  and  would 
have  been  glad  to  invite  my  college  friends  and 
boon  companions  to  share  the  hospitalities  of  Grey- 
holt.  But  my  father  always  discountenanced  any 
such  proceeding,  simply  saying  that  Jt  was  not  best. 
That  memorable  night  explained  all.  Bear  with  me 
if  I  am  tedious  or  prolix,  while  I  repeat  to  you  in  my 
own  words  what  he  told  me  in  that  last  hour  of  his 
life. 

"  About  a  year  after  my  own  mother's  death — 
which  occurred  soon  after  my  birth — my  father  went 
to  New  Orleans  on  business,  and  there  met  Alice 
L'Amoreau,  a  young  and  beautiful  woman,  who  fasci 
nated  him  at  once.  It  seems  to  have  been,  on  his 
part  at  least,  one  of  those  sudden  and  passionate 
attachments  with  which  the  senses  have  more  to  do 
than  the  heart  or  the  intellect.  An  ardent  wooing,  a 
hurried  courtship,  a  speedy  wedding,  followed ;  and 
when  my  father  returned  to  the  North  he  brought  her 
with  him  as  his  wife. 

"There  was  a  year  of  rapture, — of  wild,  sweet,  en 
grossing  happiness, — and  then  my  brother  Clyde  was 
born.  You  may  perhaps  imagine,  but  you  certainly 
cannot  overestimate,  my  father's  distress  and  horror 
when  he  learned,  soon  after  that  event,  that  the  curse 
of  hereditary  insanity  fell  upon  the  boy  at  his  birth. 


288  EXPIATION. 

Alice  L'Amoreau's  uncle,  father,  and  grandfather  had 
all  died  in  insane-asylums,  raving  maniacs.  This  he 
might  have  ascertained  before  his  marriage,  if  in  his 
mad  infatuation  he  had  not  refrained  from  asking  a 
single  question  as  to  the  family  or  antecedents  of  the 
woman  he  was  about  to  make  his  wife.  If  he  ever 
blamed  her  for  the  concealment  she  must  have  prac 
ticed,  he  did  not  say  so  to  me.  His  reproaches  were 
all  for  himself,  in  that  his  own  blind  folly  had  brought 
this  curse  upon  his  child." 

Here  Kenneth  paused  for  a  moment,  and  Sister 
Agnes  started  forward  with  parted  lips  and  a  pallid 
face,  down  which  the  tears  were  streaming  But  Dr. 
Bellinger  laid  his  hand  upon  her  arm,  saying,  in  his 
quiet,  authoritative  tones, — 

"  Be  silent,  Agnes  !  Let  Mr.  Armstrong  finish  his 
story  first.  Then,  if  you  have  anything  to  say, 
we  will  listen  to  you  as  patiently  as  we  can.  Be 
quiet!" 

Kenneth  went  on : 

"  My  father  had  a  great,  even  an  unusual,  horror  of 
insanity ;  and  it  became  the  one  thought  of  his  life 
how  to  ward  off  this  terrible  danger  that  seemed 
lying  in  wait  for  his  son.  But  it  soon  became  evident 
from  Clyde's  peculiar  mental  and  spiritual  constitu 
tion,  from  his  high  temper,  his  passionate  outbreaks, 
and  his  lack  of  self-control,  that  only  the  most  patient, 
watchful,  self-denying  care  would  save  him. 

"  I  inferred,  although  my  father  did  not  say  so  that 
night,  that  there  was  a  wide  difference  of  opinion 
between  him  and  Clyde's  mother  as  to  the  proper 
management  of  the  child.  He  would  have  striven, 


EXPIA  TION. 


289 


even  from  the  boy's  infancy,  to  hold  a  firm  yet  gentle 
sway  that  should  control  him  almost  without  his 
knowledge.  He  would  have  endeavored  by  every 
possible  influence  to  counteract  Clyde's  natural  tend 
encies  ;  to  strengthen  him  where  he  was  weak ;  to 
teach  him  patience,  submission,  fortitude ;  in  short, 
to  supply  the  balance,  the  equipoise,  that  his  nature 
needed.  She,  so  far  as  I  could  judge  from  his  cau 
tious  words, — I  think  he  shrank  from  casting  even  the 
shadow  of  blame  upon  the  dead, — would  have  in 
dulged  him  in  every  whim.  What  my  father  forbade, 
she  allowed ;  what  he  disapproved,  she  granted ; 
where  he  would  have  controlled,  she  would  have 
yielded  unlimited  license.  All  this  was  touched  upon 
very  lightly;  and  these  are  my  own  inferences  rather 
than  my  father's  assertions. 

"  Time  went  on,-  until  Clyde  was  fifteen.  I,  mean 
while,  had  been  for  years  at  boarding-school,  and  now 
had  just  entered  college.  Between  us  two  brothers 
there  had  always  been  a  very  strong  affection,  although 
we  knew  comparatively  little  about  each  other.  In 
deed,  I  knew  but  little  of  the  home-life  of  the  family, 
so  much  of  my  childhood  and  youth  had  been  spent 
elsewhere.  One  day  there  came  to  me  a  letter  from 
my  father,  telling  me  that  Clyde  had  been  thrown 
from  a  horse  and  very  severely  injured.  .He  bade  me 
be  in  readiness  to  come  home  at  a  moment's  warning, 
as  he  should  send  for  me  if  ever  the  boy  seemed  to 
be  in  any  immediate  danger. 

"  A  week  passed,  and,  as  all  the  tidings  that  reached 
me  were  of  a  favorable  character,  I  had  almost  ceased 
to  be  anxious,  when  the  terrible  summons  came. 
N  25 


290 


EXPIATION. 


"  I  hastened  home,  to  find  Clyde  in  extreme  danger, 
and  the  whole  household  in  a  state  of  profound 
excitement.  My  stepmother  had  died  suddenly  the 
previous  night.  That  was  all  that  I  knew  at  the 
time, — all  that  any  one  knew,  excepting  my  father, the 
physician  who  attended  Clyde,  and  the  nurse.  It  is 
not  necessary  for  me  to  linger  here.'  She  was  buried. 
I  saw  the  body,  beautiful  even  in  death,  time  and 
again,  both  before  and  after  it  was  placed  in  the  coffin. 
As  I  have  said,  I  attended  the  funeral.  Of  the  death 
and  burial  of  Alice  Armstrong  there  exists  no  doubt 
whatever." 

"  I  remember  distinctly  reading  the  Tribune's 
account  of  the  funeral  myself,"  I  said. 

Sister  Agnes  looked  at  me  for  a  moment  with  a 
strange  expression.  It  almost  seemed  as  if  there  was 
a  little  lurking  humor  in  her  sad  eyes. 

"  I  read  it  also,"  she  remarked,  quietly. 

"  Go  on,  Kenneth,"  said  Dr.  Bellinger. 

"  For  weeks  after  that,  Clyde  hovered  between  life 
and  death.  He  had  been  most  devotedly  attached 
to  his  mother,  and  his  physician  at  once  forbade  all 
allusions  to  her  or  her  death  in  his  presence.  As  he 
became  convalescent, — slightly  so, — everything  that 
could  remind  him  of  her  was  carefully  kept  out  of 
his  sight. 

"  We  came  to  Altona.  Of  the  life  of  my  father 
and  Clyde  during  the  next  five  years,  Miss  Rossiter 
and  Patsy  know  more  than  I  do, — for  I  was  here  only 
during  my  vacations.  But  Clyde  was  never,  after 
that  injury,  just  what  he  was  before.  He  seemed  to 
have  but  a  faint,  undefined  memory  of  his  mother; 


EXPIATION. 


291 


and  even  that  was  painful.  I  never  heard  him  speak 
of  her  after  her  burial. 

"  That  night — the  memorable  night  of  my  father's 
death — he  told  me  what  had  hitherto  been  sedulously 
concealed  from  me  as  from  all  others.  Then,  for  the 
first  time,  I  learned  of  the  awful  shadow  that  over 
hung  my  poor  Clyde." 

He  was  silent  for  a  few  moments,  shielding  his  eyes 
with  his  hand,  while  his  lips  were  white  and  set. 

"But,"  said  Dr.  Bellinger,  gently,  "you  told  us 
yesterday  that  Clyde  was  implicated  in  his  mother's 
death.  How  was  that  ?" 

"  I  will  tell  you  in  a  moment,"  he  answered.  "  I 
am  coming  now  to  the  hardest  part  of  my  story. 
Clyde,  as  I  have  said,  was  injured  by  being  thrown 
from  a  horse.  It  was  a  handsome,  high-spirited 
animal,  but  half  broken;  and  my  father  had  given 
especial  orders  that  the  boy  should  never  mount  him. 
I  inferred,  from  his  few  reticent  words,  that  my  step 
mother  had  yielded  to  Clyde's  boyish  entreaties, 
countermanded  this  order,  and  granted  the  permission 
that  he  had  denied.  You  know  the  result. 

"  I  should,  perhaps,  have  said,  a  month  ago,  that  it 
was  a  part  of  the  divine  system  of  retribution  when 
from  that  hour  Clyde's  passionate  love  for  his  mother 
was  changed  into  unspeakable  dread  and  horror. 
But  the  experiences  of  the  last  few  weeks  have  taught 
me  charity.  I  believe  now  that  it  was  only  the  effect 
of  disease,  and  that  the  result  might  have  been  the 
same  even  if  she  had  been  the  wisest  and  most  con 
scientious  of  mothers." 

Sister  Agnes  interrupted  him  with  a  low,  tremulous 


292 


EXPIATION. 


cry.  "  You  believe  that,  Kenneth  Armstrong  ?  Tell 
me,  in  God's  name,  do  you  really  believe  that?" 

He  looked  at  her  curiously  for  a  moment.  "  I  do, 
most  certainly,"  he  answered. 

She  fell  back  in  her  seat,  covered  her  face  with  her 
hands,  and  I  saw  the  tears  trickle  through  her  clasped 
fingers. 

"But,  whatever  may  have  been  the  cause,  there 
was  no  doubt  as  to  the  fact.  His  mother's  presence 
invariably  threw  Clyde  into  the  wildest  paroxysms 
of  delirium.  He  would  scream  at  the  sight  of  her 
and  exhibit  an  insane  fury  that  was  most  appalling. 
Yet  she  persisted  in  entering  the  room.  God  forbid 
that  I  should  do  her  injustice!  Doubtless  she  was 
herself  half  wild  with  anxiety  and  pain,  and  '  knew 
not  what  she  did.'  " 

As  for  me,  my  attention  was  becoming  so  en 
grossed  with  Sister  Agnes  that  I  almost  lost  my  in 
terest  in  Kenneth's  story.  At  these  words  her  hands 
dropped  from  her  face,  and  she  threw  upon  the 
speaker  a  look  of  gratitude  that  was  not  to  be  mis 
taken.  She  must  be  an  impostor,  of  course.  But  I 
thought  her  a  remarkably  good  actress. 

"  At  last,"  continued  Kenneth,  "  the  physician  per 
emptorily  forbade  her  presence  in  Clyde's  chamber, 
declaring  that  if  she  did  not  obey  his  orders  he  could 
not  answer  for  the  consequences.  But  that  night,  in 
defiance  of  all  this,  she  stole  into  the  room.  Clyde 
was  wide  awake,  but  quiet.  The  nurse  motioned  her 
away,  but  she  persisted  in  remaining.  Suddenly 
Clyde  turned  and  saw  her.  With  a  wild  cry  of  fear 
and  horror,  he  snatched  a  small  bronze  figure  from  a 


EXPIATION.  293 

bracket  over  the  bed,  and  hurled  it  at  her  with  all  the 
strength  of  madness. 

"  It  struck  her  just  above  the  right  temple,  felling 
her  to  the  floor ;  while,  all  his  strength  gone,  Clyde 
cowered  under  the  bedclothes  like  a  frightened  child, 
shivering  and  weeping.  Just  then  my  father  and  the 
physician  entered  the  room.  One  glance  told  the 
whole  story.  They  lifted  her  from  the  floor  and  bore 
her  to  her  own  chamber.  But  all  efforts  to  restore 
her  were  utterly  in  vain.  She  must  have  died  in 
stantly;  for  there  was  not  a  beat  of  the  pulse,  a  throb 
of  the  heart,  after  she  fell ;  only  one  little  gasp,  one 
slight  spasm  of  the  lips. 

"  After  the  first  agony  was  over,  my  father's 
thoughts  went  back  to  Clyde  ;  and  from  that  moment 
to  the  hour  of  his  own  death,  it  seems  to  me,  he  had 
no  thought  but  for  him.  He  was,  indeed,  the  'ocean 
to  the  river  of  his  thoughts,  that  terminated  all.'  The 
servants  were  asleep,  the  house  was  still.  No  one 
outside  of  that  room  knew  of  the  tragedy  the  night 
had  brought  forth.  What  passed  between  my  father, 
the  physician,  and  the  nurse  I  do  not  know ;  he  was 
in  the  hour  and  article  of  death  when  he  told  me 
these  things,  and  there  was  no  time  for  many  words. 
But  in  the  morning  the  world  knew  that  Mrs.  John 
Armstrong  had  suddenly  died,  and  it  knew  nothing 

more.     Dr. ,  it  was  announced,  had  been  in  the 

house  at  the  time,  and  everything  had  been  done  that 
could  be  done.  There  was  the  usual  amount  of  awe 
and  wonder;  there  were  the  usual  exclamations  of 
surprise  and  pity.  Then  she  was  buried,  and  the 
stream  of  life  flowed  on  as  before." 

25* 


294 


EXPIATION. 


"  But,"  asked  Dr.  Bellinger,  "  was  there  no  dis 
figurement,  nothing  to  betray  this  secret  to  those 
who  must  have  seen  the  body?" 

"  There  was  a  deep  cut  high  up  on  the  temple,"  was 
the  answer;  "but  when  the  hair  was  drawn  over  it, 
after  the  fashion  of  the  day,  it  was  not  perceptible. 
There  was " 

He  stopped  and  started  violently,  leaning  forward 
to  gaze  at  Sister  Agnes. 

"  My  God  !"  he  cried.  "  Woman,  who  and  what  are 
you  ?" 

She  had  torn  off  her  quaint  cap  with  its  concealing 
band,  letting  her  long,  beautiful  white  hair  fall  over 
her  shoulders.  As  I  turned  to  look  at  her,  drawn  by 
his  exclamation,  she  rose  with  a  faint  smile,  and 
pushed  it  back  from  her  forehead. 

"  I  am  your  stepmother, — Alice  Armstrong,"  she 
said.  "  There  is  the  scar,  Kenneth !" 

As  with  one  impulse,  we  all  sprang  to  our  feet. 
But  Dr.  Bellinger,  cool  and  self-possessed  as  ever, 
quietly  motioned  us  to  our  seats  again.  Kenneth 
was  trembling  like  a  leaf;  and  at  a  sign  from  the 
doctor,  Patsy  brought  him  a  glass  of  wine.  After  he 
had  drained  it,  and  his  face  had  grown  a  little  less 
ghastly,  Dr.  Bellinger  said, — 

"  I  want  to  ask  you  a  question  or  two,  Kenneth, 
less  for  myself  than  for  the  satisfaction  of  these  ladies. 
What  induced  this  concealment  as  to  the  cause  of 
Mrs.  Armstrong's  death  ?" 

Before  he  answered  this  question,  Kenneth  moved 
his  seat  to  a  position  from  which  he  could  not  see 
Sister  Agnes ;  and  I  noticed  that  from  this  time  until 


EXPIA  TION. 


295 


she  began  to  speak  for  herself,  he  did  not  once  look 
at  her. 

"  My  father  had  a  great  deal  of  family  pride,"  he 
said.  "  He  shrank  sensitively  from  the  talk,  the 
gossip,  the  scandal,  that  was  sure  to  follow  a  revela 
tion  of  the  facts.  He  could  not  bear  that  he  and  his 
should  become  a  nine  days'  wonder.  This  I  feel  in 
stinctively.  But  there  were  still  more  powerful  rea 
sons.  With  this  hereditary  tendency  to  insanity,  there 
would  have  been  no  hope  for  Clyde  if  this  fearful 
story  had  once  been  revealed  to  him.  Had  he  once 
known  himself  to  have  been  even  the  innocent  slayer 
of  his  mother,  he  would  have  gone  mad  at  once." 

"  But  when  convalescence  came,  had  he  no  recol 
lection  of  the  events  of  that  night  ?" 

"  None  whatever ;  and  at  first  my  father  had  no 
intention  of  leaving  New  York.  But,  as  the  days 

rolled  on,  it  became  evident  to  him  and  to  Dr. 

that  upon  one  point  Clyde's  mind  was  fatally  un 
hinged.  The  slightest  allusion  to  his  mother — even 
the  sight  of  objects  remotely  connected  with  her 
— seemed  to  bring  on  returns  of  the  old  dread  and 
horror  that  had  once  culminated  so  fearfully.  At 

last  Dr. said  that  there  was  no  safety  for  him 

save  in  an  entire  breaking  up  of  all  old  associations, 
the  beginning  of  an  entirely  new  life,  where  nothing 
in  nature,  in  places,  or  in  the  faces  of  those  around 
him  should  recall  his  past.  For  this  reason  my  father 
sacrificed  his  business,  his  friendships,  his  habits  of 
life,  his  hopes,  and  his  ambitions.  He  had  so  large 
an  acquaintance,  he  was  so  widely  known  in  business 
and  political  circles,  that  no  half-way  measures  were 


296  EXPIA  TION. 

possibl-e.  If  he  had  remained  in  the  world,  every 
day  would  have  brought  danger  to  Clyde  :  so  he 
dropped  out  of  it,  almost  as  a  star  drops  from  the 
sky.  From  that  time  his  whole  life  was  devoted  to 
one  object, — to  save  Clyde. 

"  The  night  he  died  he  told  me  this  sad  story,  and 
placed  in  my  hands  the  charge  he  dropped  at  the 
gates  of  the  grave.  God  knows  I  have  tried  to  keep 
it !  You  know  now,  Miss  Rossiter,  why  we  never  left 
Altona ;  why  we  shunned  society ;  why  I  so  dreaded 
Clyde's  going  to  New  York ;  why " 

"  I  understand  all,  Kenneth  !"  I  interrupted. 
"  Everything — from  first  to  last.  And  I  know  why 
your  father  denied  himself  the  solace  of  Clyde's 
presence  when  he  was  upon  his  death-bed." 

"  Doubtless,"  he  replied,  "  he  feared  lest,  in  his 
weakness,  some  unguarded  word  might  escape  him. 
Those  newspapers — do  you  remember? — /destroyed 
them;  for  they  were  printed  in  '51,  and  I  dreaded 
lest  Clyde  should  find  in  them  some  allusion  to  his 
mother's  death, — something  to  awaken  memory." 

Elsie  was  weeping  silently.  I  wondered  whether 
much  else  that  had  been  dark  was  not  now  made  clear. 

Kenneth's  pale  face  and  the  evident  distress  this 
over-raking  of  the  ashes  of  the  past  was  causing  him, 
were  quite  too  much  for  Patsy.  She  had  been  strug 
gling  with  herself  for  half  an  hour,  now  wiping  her 
eyes,  with  sorrowful  yet  indignant  sniffs,  now  casting 
fierce  glances  at  Sister  Agnes.  As  Kenneth  ceased 
to  speak,  she  dashed  across  the  room  and  caught  his 
hand  in  hers,  roughened  and  hardened  by  a  life  of 
labor. 


EXPIATION. 


297 


"  This  is  too  bad,  my  boy  !"  she  cried,  while  tears 
rained  down  her  cheeks.  "  If  no  one  else  speaks,  I 
will.  Tell  that  woman  to  go  home  !  What  right  has 
she  to  come  here,  disturbing  Kenneth's  peace  of  mind, 
and  poor  Clyde  not  yet  cold  in  his  grave  ?  Tell  her 
to  go  home,  Dr.  Bellinger  !  Dead  folks  is  dead  folks  ; 
and  after  they  have  been  buried  wellnigh  on  to  seven 
years  they  don't  most  generally  come  to  life  again. 
I  don't  fancy  talking  in  this  way  before  my  betters, 
but  I  wouldn't  mind  telling  that  woman  she  was  a 
humbug,  myself!" 

"  Hush,  hush,  Patsy,  my  good,  faithful  Patsy  !"  said 
Kenneth,  pressing  the  hard  band  in  both  his.  "  Sister 
Agnes  must  not  go  till  she  has  told  her  story.  I 
should  have  no  peace  if  she  did.  We  must  hear  what 
she  has  to  say." 

"  Yes,"  remarked  Dr.  Bellinger.  "  This  matter 
must  be  sifted  to  the  bottom  now.  Sister  Agnes,  we 
are  ready  to  hear  you  ;  and  I  venture  to  say,  in  behalf 
of  this  entire  company,  that  we  will  listen  kindly  and 
patiently." 

"  Don't  speak  for  me,  doctor,"  was  Patsy's  protest, 
earnestly  yet  respectfully  uttered.  "  That  scar  didn't 
make  a  mite  of  an  impression  on  me.  I've  had  one 
on  my  temple  more'n  twenty  year.  Look  a-there  !" 
And  she  pushed  back  her  iron-gray  locks  defiantly. 


298  EXPIATION. 


CHAPTER    XXV. 

DR.  BELLINGER  laughed  in  "spite  of  himself;  and, 
notwithstanding  the  deep  solemnity  of  the  moment, 
the  sound  did  us  all  a  world  of  good.  How  could 
human  nature  bear  the  intenseness  of  life,  if  it  were 
not  that  some  touch  of  the  ludicrous  so  often  lessens 
the  strain  upon  the  overtaxed  nerves  ?  Even  Ken 
neth's  face  relaxed  for  an  instant,  and  we  all  settled 
ourselves  more  comfortably  in  our  chairs.  There 
was  a  moment's  pause,  and  then  Sister  Agnes  began, 
in  low,  tremulous  tones. 

"  It  is  not  strange,"  she  said,  "that  most  of  you — 
perhaps  all  of  you — have  prejudged  my  case,  and 
regard  me  as  an  arrant  impostor ;  and  I  thank  you 
for  the  courtesy  that  grants  me  a  hearing.  Your 
story,  Kenneth  Armstrong,  was  entirely  correct — so 
far  as  it  went — until  you  reached  the  burial,  the  sup 
posed  burial,  of  Clyde's  mother.  But  I  cannot  begin 
at  that  point.  From  first  to  last  my  story  comple 
ments  yours,  and  I  must  go  back  to  the  hour  when 
your  father  first  met  Alice  L'Amoreau.  Of  her  I 
prefer  to  speak  in  the  third  person,  instead  of  the  first, 
until  I  shall  have  proved  conclusively  that  she  and 
the  person  who  has  been  known  for  seven  years  as 
'  Sister  Agnes'  are  one. 

"  She  was  young,  impulsive,  of  an  ardent,  ill-regu 
lated  temperament.  Her  family  had  been  possessed 
of  great  wealth  ;  but — owing,  doubtless,  in  a  great 


EXPIATION. 


299 


degree  to  the  hereditary  taint  of  which  mention  has 
been  made — it  had  slowly  slipped  away  from  them  ; 
and  at  the  time  your  father  made  her  acquaintance 
she  was  living  as  a  dependent  in  the  family  of  one  of 
her  richer  relatives.  You  say  it  was  a  sudden,  irre 
sistible  fascination  on  his  part.  I  beg  you  to  believe 
that  on  hers  it  was  a  young  girl's  eager,  enthusiastic 
love.  He  urged  a  hasty  marriage,  and  she  was  but 
too  glad  to  escape  from  hateful  dependence,  from  cold 
charity,  to  the  tender  arms  that  were  stretched  wide 
to  receive  her. 

"  A  few  days  before  their  marriage,  your  father,  in 
some  chance  conversation,  happened  to  speak  of  his 
intense  horror  of  insanity.  He  said  that  it  seemed 
to  him  the  most  terrible  curse  that  could  be  entailed 
upon  a  family,  and  that  he  doubted  if  any  man  had 
a  right  to  marry,  knowing  that  he  carried  in  his  own 
being  seeds  that  might  bear  such  bitter  fruit.  Then 
Alice  should  have  spoken.  If  she  had  been  thor 
oughly  truthful,  she  could  not  have  refrained  from 
speaking.  If  she  had  loved  unselfishly,  she  would 
have  sacrificed  her  own  heart,  if  need  be,  but  she 
would  have  told  John  Armstrong  the  whole  truth. 
But  she  kept  silent,  and  allowed  herself  to  drift  on 
toward  marriage,  knowing  that  hate  might  take  the 
place  of  love  in  her  husband's  heart,  if  he  ever  dis 
covered  the  deception  she  had  practiced.  That  he 
did  not  tell  you  of  her  sin,  her  weakness,  only  shows 
that  he  was  worthy  of  a  better  fate  than  awaited  him. 
Her  only  hope  lay  in  the  fact  that  her  new  home  was 
to  be  among  entire  strangers,  where  perhaps  her 
skeleton  would  never  be  unveiled. 


300 


EXPIATION. 


"  But  murder  will  out.  Clyde  was  born ;  and  soon 
after,  some  idle  wind  bore  to  Mr.  Armstrong's  ears  the 
dreadful  secret  she  had  hidden  so  long.  There  was 
a  change  in  their  relations  from  that  hour.  He  heaped 
no  reproaches  upon  her.  He  simply  asked  her  if 
these  things  were  so;  and,  with  his  truth-compelling 
eyes  reading  her  very  soul,  she  could  only  answer 
'  yes.'  She  was  his  wife  ;  and  outwardly  there  was 
no  alteration  in  his  demeanor  toward  her.  He  was 
too  good  a  man  to  be  other  than  a  faithful  and,  in  a 
certain  sense,  a  tender  husband.  But — she  read  her 
fate  in  his  eyes.  She  felt  that  in  spite  of  his  will  (or 
perhaps  by  reason  of  it)  he  recoiled  from  her. 

"  And  she  grew  hard  and  bitter.  Her  stormy,  pas 
sionate,  yet  loving  nature  could  not  brook  the  doom 
she  had  brought  upon  herself.  It  struggled  and 
rebelled ;  and  in  the  struggle  the  sweetest  flowers  of 
her  womanhood  were  trampled  in  the  dust. 

"  In  her  heart  of  hearts  she  knew  that  she  was  not 
fit  to  take  the  management  of  Clyde :  they  were  too 
much  alike.  She  should  have  left  him  to  the  control 
of  his  clear-headed,  consistent,  yet  always  tender 
father.  But  she  would  not.  Pride  and  a  wicked 
spirit  of  revenge  confronted  her  like  dragons.  She 
had  lost  her  husband.  She  would  not  give  up  her 
child  also. 

"  I  need  not  linger  longer  upon  this  part  of  my 
story.  You  know  how  it  all  ended.  She  died,  as 
was  supposed, — killed  by  Clyde's  hand, — and  was 
placed  in  her  coffin." 

Up  to  this  moment  we  had  scarcely  breathed. 
Upon  every  one  of  us,  I  think,  a  conviction  of  the 


EXPIATION.  30I 

truth  of  this  woman's  words  was  growing ;  and  we 
were  listening,  as  those  who  hearken  for  their  lives 
to  the  clear,  thrilling  tones  that  filled  the  stillness  of 
the  room.     But  now  her  voice  faltered  and  broke. 

"  Rest  a  moment,"  said  Dr.  Bellinger,  gently ;  and 
Patsy,  without  a  word,  brought  her  a  glass  of  water. 
I  could  not  see  Kenneth's  face.  It  was  hidden  by  his 
hand. 

At  length  she  went  on  : 

"  She  was  placed  in  the  coffin,  which  was,  fortu 
nately,  left  unclosed.  Suddenly  she  felt  a  thrill,  a 
tremor,  a  strange  prickling  sensation  in  her  feet  and 
hands.  There  was  a  ringing  in  her  ears.  She  did 
not  know  whether  she  was  in  the  body  or  out.  She 
strove  to  move,  but  she  could  not.  She  tried  to  tell 
whether  her  heart  was  beating ;  but,  if  it  was,  its 
pulsations  were  so  faint  as  to  be  imperceptible  to 
her  duli  senses.  Was  she  dead  or  alive  ? 

"  But  while  she  waited,  bound  hand  and  foot  as  it 
were,  there  was  a  great  throb, — a  rush  of  life-giving 
influence  from  the  heart  to  the  brain.  Her  eyes 
opened.  She  lived  again. 

"  For  five  minutes,  perhaps,  she  was  conscious  of 
only  this.  Then  slowly  memory  woke  from  its  long 
trance.  She  recollected  all  that  had  happened;  she 
fully  realized  her  situation.  And  with  remembrance, 
came  such  a  flood  of  anguish  and  remorse  that  the 
only  wonder  is  that  she  did  not  swoon  again.  For 
the  first  time  her  soul  stood  naked  and  ashamed  be 
fore  God,  and  she  saw  in  its  true  colors  the  course 
she  had  been  pursuing.  It  was  comparatively  easy 
for  her  to  forgive  herself  for  the  first  deceit, — the  con- 

26 


302 


EXPIATION. 


cealment  practiced  by  a  girl  who  loved.  But  when 
she  thought  of  her  persistent  efforts  to  thwart  her 
husband  in  his  endeavors  to  counteract  the  evil  her 
own  falsehood  had  entailed  upon  Clyde,  her  heart 
sank  dead  within  her. 

"  Her  resolution  was  taken.  What  reparation  could, 
she  make  but  to  flee  from  their  presence  forever? 
Clyde's  fear  and  horror  of  her  seemed  to  indicate  her 
duty.  It  was  a  judgment  sent  upon  her  by  a  right 
eous  God.  She  was  dead  to  them  and  to  the  world, 
and  dead  she  would  remain. 

"  She  was  in  her  own  chamber.  A  shaded  lamp 
burned  dimly.  She  crept  silently  from  the  coffin, 
fearing  every  moment  the  approach  of  the  watchers. 
She  glanced  at  the  dress  in  which  they  had  clothed 
her  for  the  tomb.  It  was  a  plain  black  silk,  entirely 
unnoticeable.  There  was  a  water-proof  cloak  in  the 
wardrobe — with  a  hood  to  draw  over  the  head — and 
a  pair  of  slippers. 

"  But  her  strength  was  failing  her.  It  must  last  her 
until  she  had  fled  from  that  house,  out  into  the  night, 
God  only  knew  whither.  There  was  brandy  in  a  cup 
board,  and  a  cracker.  She  ate  and  drank  hastily, — 
fearing  discovery  every  instant.  Then  she  had  pres 
ence  of  mind  enough  to  unlock  her  own  escritoire  and 
take  therefrom  a  purse.  It  would  keep  her  from, 
starvation  until  she  could  form  her  plans  for  the  future.! 

"  The  window,  which  was  unclosed,  opened  out 
upon  a  balcony.  From  that,  a  grape-vine  with  a  light 
trellis  led  to  the  ground.  Silently  as  a  dream  she 
descended  from  bar  to  bar,  the  very  leaves  hanging 
motionless  to  aid  her  flight. 


EXPIATION. 


303 


"  The  streets  were  hushed.  What  time  was  it  ? 
She  could  not  wander  about  in  the  darkness  without 
danger  of  insult,  or  at  least  of  being  taken  up  by  the 
police.  She  looked  with  straining  gaze  far  off  into 
the  east.  There  was  a  faint  streak  of  light  touching 
the  horizon. 

"  She  crept  round  the  corner  of  the  house  into  the 
next  street,  and  there  crouched  in  the  shadow  of  a 
wall  until  the  morning  dawned.  She  had  slipped  the 
brandy-flask  into  her  pocket,  and  by  occasional  swal 
lows  kept  herself  alive.  Now  she  drained  the  last 
drop, — threw  the  flask  on  a  heap  of  garbage,  and 
began  to  move  onward.  She  wandered  along,  up  one 
street  and  down  another,  vaguely  conscious  that  this 
must  soon  end,  until  suddenly  she  discovered  herself 
in  front  of  the  gray  towers  of  St.  Elizabeth's  Hospital. 
Then  her  strength  left  her,  and  she  sank  to  the 
ground. 

"  When  she  came  to  herself,  she  was  in  one  of  the 
wards,  and  gentle  hands  were  removing  her  clothing. 
Only  one  article  that  she  had  about  her  person  was 
marked,  and  that  she  managed  to  secrete. 

"  She  lay  in  a  state  of  semi-consciousness  for  sev 
eral  days, — a  great  part  of  the  time  too  weak  for 
anything  like  connected  thought.  But  one  day  life's 
forces  rallied  fully,  and,  for  the  first  time,  she  at 
tempted  to  speak.  She  wanted  to  see  a  newspaper, 
and  discover,  if  she  could,  whether  any  notice  had 
been  taken  of  her  flight. 

"  To  her  amazement,  she  found  that  she  could  not 
utter  a  word.  Her  vocal  organs  seemed  paralyzed. 
Her  first  impulse  was  to  cry  out,  and  give  instant 


304 


EXPIA  TION. 


alarm.  Her  second  was  to  be  silent  and  reflect.  In 
the  brief  intervals  during  which  she  had  been  able  to 
think,  she  had  determined  to  remain  as  a  nurse  at  St. 
Elizabeth's.  Nowhere  could  she  be  more  effectually 
hidden  than  in  the  heart  of  a  great  city.  No  one 
would  think  of  looking  for  her  in  the  wards  of  a  hos 
pital  ;  and  it  seemed  fitting  that  she  should  devote 
the  remainder  of  her  days,  be  they  few  or  many,  to 
the  care  of  God's  suffering  ones.  Now,  as  a  flash  of 
lightning,  came  the  thought  that  this  dumbness  would 
be  the  most  effective  of  disguises,  even  while  it  pro 
tected  her  from  careless  or  impertinent  questioning. 

"  In  the  course  of  time  she  regained  her  strength, 
and  proved  by  her  deeds  that  she  was  capable  of 
nursing  the  sick.  The  very  first  patient  to  whom 
she  devoted  herself  was  a  Romanist ;  and  in  his 
delirium  he  called  her  continually  '  Sister  Agnes.' 
It  mattered  little  to  her  by  what  name  she  went, 
now  that  she  was  no  longer  Alice  Armstrong,  and 
she  let  it  pass.  By  that  name  she  has  been  known 
ever  since." 

She  ceased  ;  and  for  a  few  moments  the  room  was  as 
silent  as  the  grave  from  which,  according  to  her  story, 
Mrs.  Armstrong  had  been  rescued.  This  tale  seemed 
plausible  enough  to  me  ;  but  there  was  the  stubborn 
fact  of  the  funeral.  There  was  no  getting  around 
that,  and  my  heart  hardened  against  her  again.  Ken 
neth  sat  as  motionless  as  a  statue.  At  length  Dr. 
Bellinger  spoke. 

"  Admitting  this  improbable  story  to  be  true, — and 
here,  as  I  shall  put  my  questions  directly  to  you,  I 
beg  you  to  waive  your  scruples  and  answer  in  the 


EXPIATION. 

first  person, — did  you  never  make  any  further  attempt 
to  learn  how  your  flight  was  received  ?" 

"  I  could  make  no  inquiries,"  she  answered,  "  with 
out  exciting  suspicion.  But  one  day  I  came  across 
an  old  Tribune.  Heaven  must  have  sent  it  to  prove 
to  me,  beyond  a  doubt,  that  my  old  life  was  dead  and 
buried,  and  could  have  no  resurrection.  In  it  I  read 
an  account  of  my  own  funeral.  It  hardened  my  heart 
for  awhile.  But  my  husband  was  a  good  man  and  a 
just,  and  I  long  ago  taught  myself  to  feel  that  when 
we  meet  in  the  great  hereafter  we  shall  understand 
and  forgive  each  other." 

Kenneth  started  up  with  a  flushed  face  and  quiv 
ering  lip, — then  sank  back  into  his  seat  again,  and 
again  covered  his  eyes  with  his  hand. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  that  your  mother-love  never 
compelled  you,  irresistibly,  to  obtain  some  tidings  of 
Clyde  ?"  asked  Dr.  Bellinger.  "  Did  you  never  learn 
what  had  become  of  the  family?" 

"  You  forget  that  for  months  I  could  not  speak," 
she  replied,  "  and  to  have  written  on  such  a  matter 
would  have  been  too  hazardous.  But  I  was  wild  with 
longing.  The  suspense  was  hardly  to  be  borne.  One 
day,  late  in  the  autumn,  I  discovered  that  my  voice 
had  returned  to  me.  I  could  speak.  I  kept  my 
secret;  but  that  evening,  just  at  dusk,  I  shrouded 
myself  in  a  heavy  cloak  and  veil,  and  sped  swiftly 
through  the  streets  until  I  reached  a  point  from  which 
I  could  see  my  lost  Eden, — the  home  where  I  had 
once  loved  and  been  loved.  The  gas  was  lighted  in 
the  drawing-room,  and  the  curtains  were  not  yet 
dropped.  I  crept  nearer  and  looked  in.  There  was 

26* 


306 


EXPIATION. 


a  happy  wife  there,  frolicking  with  the  baby  on  her 
lap.  There  were  merry  children  laughing  in  their 
glee.  There  was  a  husband  and  father  smiling  on 
his  loved  ones.  But  I  saw  no  face  I  had  ever  seen 
before.  I  turned  away,  and  a  ragged  little  urchin — a 
-street-beggar — stretched  out  his  hand  with  the  usual 
'  Gi'  me*  a  penny  ?'  I  dropped  five  times  the  amount 
in  his  open  palm,  and  then  asked,  '  Is  not  this  the 
Armstrong  place  ?'  '  Used  to  be,'  he  answered  ;  '  but 
they've  gone  off  somewheres.  Don't  live  here  no 
more.'  I  hesitated  ;  then  ventured  one  more  question. 
'  You  seem  to  know  something  about  them,'  I  said. 
'  Did  you  ever  hear  whether  the  boy  who  was  thrown 
from  the  horse  last  summer  got  well  or  not  ?'  '  Guess 
he  did,'  was  the  answer,  '  for  I  hang  out  round  here 
mostly,  and  I  never  heard  o'  his  dyin'.  What  yer 
want  to  know  fur,  mum  ?  He  wasn't  nothin'  to  you, 
was  he  ?'  This  random  shot  took  effect,  and  I  hurried 
away.  By  indirect  means  I  did  at  last  learn  for  a 
certainty  that  Clyde  recovered,  and  that  the  family 
had  left  the  city." 

"  But  why,  in  the  name  of  common  sense  and 
reason,  did  you  come  here  and  throw  yourself  into 
Clyde's  way  ?"  was  Dr.  Bellinger's  next  question. 

"  Do  you  suppose  I  knew  where  I  was  going  when 
I  left  New  York  ?"  she  asked,  indignantly.  "I  obeyed 
your  summons  in  all  good  faith.  Miss  Meredith 
merely  told  me  that  you  needed  my  services.  I  had 
been  under  your  orders  for  seven  years,  and  it  mat 
tered  little  to  me  whether  you  required  my  presence 
in  the  hospital  or  out  of  it.  No  names  were  men 
tioned  ;  and  it  was  not  until  I  entered  this  room  and 


EXPIA  TION. 


307 


my  husband's  eyes  frowned  down  upon  me  from  yon 
der  picture  on  the  wall,  striking  cold  terror  to  my  soult 
— it  was  not  till  then,  I  say,  that  I  had  the  slightest 
suspicion  under  whose  roof  my  patient  lay.  Then  I 
would  have  fled,  but  my  limbs  failed  me.  You  know 
what  followed.  You  know  how  you  entreated  me  to 
remain,  telling  me  that  Clyde's  life  hung  in  disbalance. 
I  learned  from  your  words  that  Mr.  Armstrong  was 
dead.  I  had  grown  old  and  faded ;  my  hair  was 
white.  It  was  not  probable  that  Kenneth  would 
recognize  in  the  poor  dumb  nurse  of  St.  Elizabeth's 
the  woman  who  had  once  reigned  as  a  queen  in  his 
father's  house.  And  oh,  doctor  !"  she  cried,  clasping 
her  hands,  as  if  in  supplication,  "  oh,  you  !" — turning 
to  us, — "  you,  who  have  tender  women's  hearts  in 
your  bosoms,  my  heart  yearned  over  my  child  !  I 
could  not,  when  God  seemed  to  have  called  me  to 
his  bedside,  turn  away  without  one  look,  one  word, 
one  caress.  I  meant  to  leave  him  as  soon  as  he 
showed  signs  of  convalescence.  I  had  no  intention 
of  making  myself  known  to  him  or  to  any  one.  He 
died.  I  determined  to  wait  until  my  beautiful  boy  was 
buried,  and  then  to  depart  as  I  had  come.  But  when 
you  all  went  with  him  to  the  place  of  sepulture,  and 
I — the  mother  who  bore  him — was  left  behind  as  a 
careless  stranger  in  this  silent  house,  I  could  not  bear 
it.  I  fell  on  the  floor  before  my  husband's  portrait. 
His  eyes  transfixed  me  I  thought  I  should  go  mad. 
My  burden  was  too  heavy, — too  grievous  to  be  borne. 
Then  I  heard  your  returning  footsteps, — and  with  no 
premeditation,  out  of  the  stress  of  pain  and  agony, 
I  spoke.  Dr.  Bellinger,  you  have  known  me  long, — 


308 


EXP1A  TION. 


and  I  know  I  have  earned  the  right  to  your  confi 
dence.  I  beg  you  to  believe  that  I  speak  the  truth  !" 

"  What  if  it  is  true,  after  all  ?"  whispered  Patsy, 
wiping  her  eyes  with  her  apron.  "  Miss  Rossiter,  I'm 
e'en  a'most  beat  out.  I  don't  know  what  to  make  on't!" 

Kenneth  had  scarcely  looked  at  Sister  Agnes  since 
she  began  her  story.  Now  Dr.  Bellinger  spoke  : 

"  Look  at  her,  Kenneth.  If  this  woman  is  the 
person  she  professes  to  be,  you  surely  ought  to  be 
able  to  detect  some  resemblance  to  your  stepmother, 
as  you  remember  her." 

Kenneth  glanced  at  her  for  a  second ;  then  turned 
his  eyes  away.  "  It  is  not  necessary  for  me  to  study 
her  features  one  by  one,"  he  said.  "  There  is  a  re 
semblance.  I  admit  it  frankly.  I  noticed  it  as  soon 
as  she  removed  her  cap.  But  I  maintain  that  it  is 
only  accidental,  and  is  probably  what  suggested  this 
plot.  The  fact  that  my  father  was  a  man  of  honor 
and  integrity,  and  that  with  his  consent  and  co-opera 
tion  the  coffin  from  which  this  woman  says  that  she 
escaped,  was  placed  in  our  family- vault,  is  a  suffi 
cient  refutation  of  her  story.  If  he  had  been  a  villain, 
he  might  have  chosen  that  way  to  break  a  marriage- 
tie  that  had  grown  hateful.  But  his  whole  life,  his 
whole  character,  gives  the  lie  to  such  a  supposition. 
This  person  labors  under  some  strange  hallucination. 
It  would  be  treason  to  my  father's  memory  for  me  to 
believe  otherwise  for  one  moment." 

"  If  Sister  Agnes  is  Mrs.  Armstrong,  and  wa'n't 
buried, — and  it  stands  to  reason  she  wa'n't, — who  or 
what  was  ?  That's  the  question !"  said  Patsy,  con 
cisely. 


EXPIATION. 


309 


"  A  question  that  is  easily  answered,"  replied  the 
doctor.  "  Kenneth,  with  your  permission  I  will  enter 
that  vault  and  examine  the  coffin  before  another 
twenty-four  hours  have  passed.  For  myself, — now 
that  I  have  been  drawn  into  this  strange  complica 
tion, — I  must  unravel  the  mystery  to  the  very  bottom. 
It  is  my  duty.  Will  you  tell  me  where  to  find  the 
key  ?  It  is  best,  my  boy,"  he  added,  gently,  seeing 
that  Kenneth  winced  at  the  unwelcome  thought. 
"  You  will  be  haunted  all  your  life  long  if  you  do  not 
solve  this  riddle  now." 

Kenneth  rose  with  an  impenetrable  face.  "  The 
key  to  the  vault  is  in  the  safe,"  was  all  he  said. 

He  went  into  the  little  room  adjoining.  We 
heard  him  open  one  door  after  another.  There  was 
a  moment's  silence,  and  then  he  came  back  with  the 
key.  In  his  hand  there  was  also  a  paper, — folded  and 
sealed.  I  recognized  it  in  a  moment,  and  my  heart 
leaped  to  my  throat. 

Kenneth's  face  was  white  and  stern,  as  he  turned 
the  paper  over  and  over  in  his  hand.  Finally  he 
said,  in  a  deep,  hoarse  voice,  "  The  night  my  father 
died,  he  gave  me  this  paper,  sealed  as  you  see  it  now. 
I  was  to  open  it  under  certain  contingencies,  which 
were  so  vaguely  stated  that  I  hardly  understood  them. 
I  felt  that  in  his  weakness  he  failed  to  make  his  mean 
ing  clear;  and  I  had  determined  never  to  break  this 
seal,  but  to  let  it  be  burned  unopened  at  my  death, — 
the  fate  he  had  in  that  case  decreed  for  it.  I  have 
not  once  thought  of  it  since  Clyde  was  taken  sick ; 
but  I  found  it  in  the  safe  just  now.  Friends,  ought  I 
to  open  it  ?" 


3io 


EXPIATION. 


"  Most  decidedly,"  answered  Dr.  Bellinger.  "  It 
seems  to  me  you  can  do  nothing  less." 

You  could  have  heard  a  pin  drop  as  Kenneth  broke 
the  seal  and  the  paper  rustled  in  his  fingers.  He 
glanced  rapidly  down  the  page,  caught  a  word  here 
and  there,  turned  it  over  and  looked  at  the  signature. 
Even  from  where  I  sat  I  could  read  in  a  large,  bold 
hand  the  name  "John  Armstrong."  Great  beaded 
drops  stood  upon  his  forehead.  The  paper  fell  upon 
the  table,  and  he  pushed  it  toward  the  doctor. 

"  Read  it,"  he  said,  faintly.     "  I  cannot." 

This  is  what  he  read : 

"  I,  John  Armstrong,  being  of  sane  mind  and 
sound  body,  yet  knowing  that  old  age  is  approaching 
and  that  death  cannot  be  far  off,  feel  that  I  ought  to 
put  upon  record  facts  that  may  some  time  be  of  im 
portance.  The  coffin  that  was  placed  in  my  family- 
vault  in  Greenwood  Cemetery,  in  the  city  of  New 
York,  on  the  twentieth  day  of  June,  A.D.  1851,  did  not 
contain,  as  was  supposed,  the  body  of  my  wife  Alice 
L'Amoreau  Armstrong.  She  died  on  the  eighteenth 
of  that  month.  The  body  was  prepared  for  the  grave 
in  the  usual  manner,  and  on  the  evening  of  the  nine 
teenth  was  placed  in  the  coffin,  ready  for  burial  on 
the  following  day.  It  stood,  unclosed,  in  the  room 
adjoining  mine.  About  midnight,  worn  out  by  days 
and  nights  of  anxious  watching  and  by  a  grief  that 
cannot  be  told,  I  fell  into  a  profound  sleep.  After 
two  or  three  hours,  I  was  suddenly  awakened.  I 
heard  no  noise,  yet  the  impression  was  strong  upon 
me  that  I  had  been  aroused  from  my  deep  slumber 


EXPIATION.  211 

by  stealthy  footsteps  on  the  balcony.  Yet,  so  dead 
ened  were  all  my  faculties,  that  it  was  several  minutes 
before  I  realized  that  this  was  anything  deserving  of 
attention.  When  I  did,  I  arose  immediately  and 
went  into  the  next  room.  It  was  in  disorder :  chairs 
had  been  moved ;  some  towels  and  napkins  lay  upon 
the  floor ;  the  window,  which  I  had  left  open  a  little 
way,  was  thrown  wide.  I  looked  in  the  coffin. 

"  It  was  empty. 

"  I  sprang  out  on  to  the  balcony.  The  garden  lay 
beneath  it,  hushed  in  complete  repose.  There  was 
not  a  human  being  in  sight,  except  one  woman  in  a 
water-proof  who  was  just  turning  the  corner.  Why 
did  I  not  make  an  immediate  outcry  ?  Why  did  I 
not  shout  for  the  police  ? 

"  Because  there  were  circumstances  connected  with 
her  death,  and  with  the  condition  of  my  son  Clyde, 
that  rendered  it  impossible.  My  son  Kenneth,  to 
whom  before  I  go  hence  I  shall  commit  the  secret 
of  those  terrible  days,  will  understand  why  I  kept 
silence;  and  if  it  is  ever  necessary,  he  will  vindicate 
me.  My  duty  was  to  the  imperiled  living,  rather 
than  to  the  dead  who  was  beyond  the  reach  of 
earthly  harm  or  sorrow.  To  have  placed  the  matter 
in  the  hands  of  the  police,  to  have  made  any  dis 
turbance  whatever,  would  have  been  sure  to  call 
attention  to  what  must  at  all  hazards  be  concealed. 

"  On  my  knees  in  the  room  so  much  more  drear 
and  desolate  than  before  it  was  deserted  by  its  ghastly 
occupant,  with  a  wordless  prayer  in  my  heart,  I  de 
termined  what  to  do. 

"  The  body  had  been  stolen,  without  a  shadow  of 


312 


EX  PI  A  TION. 


doubt,  by  those  ghouls  who  prey  upon  the  dead  and 
traffic  in  such  horrible  merchandise.  The  thought 
was  terrible  beyond  all  expression.  But — Kenneth 
knows  why — any  effort  to  regain  it  would  have  been 
too  hazardous.  The  mockery  of  a  funeral  must  be 
gone  through  with,  and  this  secret  must  clasp  hands 
with  the  other. 

"  I  found  some  bricks  and  a  log  of  wood,  which  I 
placed  in  the  coffin,  making  them  firm  and  steady  by 
paddings  of  cloth  and  paper.  Then  I  put  on  the  lid 
and  screwed  it  down.  When  the  undertaker  came 
the  next  morning,  I  told  him  that  I  had  found  it 
necessary  to  close  the  coffin,  and  that  it  must  not  be 
opened  again.  He  supposed  he  understood  me,  and 
went  his  way. 

"  The  funeral  took  place ;  and  I  gave  orders  that 
it  should  be  in  all  respects  more  showy  and  noticeable 
than  accorded  with  my  tastes.  It  was  a  part  of  my 
plan.  I  wanted  the  world  to  remember  it. 

"  Whether  this  was  right  or  wrong,  I  leave  to  the 
great  Judger  of  hearts  and  motives  rather  than  of 
deeds.  And  though  the  ashes  of  Alice  Armstrong 
do  not  lie  in  her  husband's  tomb,  may  God  watch 
over  them,  and  may  his  angels  protect  them  ;  and 
may  her  soul  and  mine,  purified  at  last  through  sor 
row  and  anguish  and  much  tribulation,  meet  in  glad 
recognition  beyond  the  veil ! 

"  This  statement  is  true,  so  help  me  God !  And 
hereunto  I  set  my  hand  and  seal. 

"JOHN  ARMSTRONG." 

I  do  not  know  whether  we  wept  or  not.     I  rather 


EXPIA  TION. 


3*3 


think  our  emotions  were  growing  too  highly  wrought 
for  tears.  Kenneth  was  the  first  to  speak, — very 
quietly,  as  one  who  held  his  whole  being  in  leash. 

"  Patsy,  in  a  small  closet  in  the  darkest  corner 
of  the  garret  there  is  a  portrait  of  Clyde's  mother. 
I  wish  you  would  bring  it  to  us ;  here  is  the  key." 

She  gave  me  one  quick  glance  and  a  little  nod, 
and  then  departed  on  her  errand. 

"  There  is  but  one  step  more  to  be  taken,"  said 
Kenneth,  when  she  returned.  "Just  one.  Is  this" 
(uncovering  it)  "the  portrait  of  the  woman  you  have 
known  as  Sister  Agnes?  Friends,  I  leave  the  deci 
sion  to  you." 

"  Allow  me  one  word  first,"  said  Dr.  Bellinger, 
rising  and  taking  his  stand  behind  Sister  Agnes's 
chair.  "  According  to  the  paper  we  have  just  read,  it 
was  in  the  night  of  the  ipth  and  2Oth  of  June  that 
the  body  of  Alice  Armstrong  was  taken  from  the 
coffin.  It  was  on  the  morning  of  the  2Oth  that  this 
woman" — and  he  placed  his  hand  on  her  shoulder — 
"  was  found  lying  insensible  near  St.  Elizabeth's,  and 
was  admitted  as  a  patient.  I  happen  to  have  the  date 
in  my  note-book.  Take  that  for  what  it  is  worth. 
Now  for  the  portrait." 

Ah,  how  lovely  it  was !  We  glanced  curiously 
from  that  pictured  face  to  the  one  that,  now  flushing, 
now  paling,  made  young  again  by  the  powerful 
excitement  of  the  moment,  looked  half  timidly,  half 
defiantly  at  us  from  beneath  Sister  Agnes's  crown  of 
silvery  hair.  Suddenly  there  leaped  to  her  dark  eyes 
a  look  I  had  seen  in  Clyde's  a  thousand  times.  I 

could  restrain  myself  no  longer, 
o  27 


EXPIATION. 


"  Kenneth !  Kenneth !"  I  cried,  "  this  is  surely 
Clyde's  mother !  Look  at  her  eyes  !" 

She  stretched  out  her  arms,  echoing  my  cry  of 
"  Kenneth  !" — and  in  another  moment,  the  long  con 
flict  over,  he  lay  upon  her  breast,  sobbing  like  a 
child. 

There  were  no  congratulations.  We  only  crowded 
round  the  two  who  had  been  so  long  and  so  strangely 
separated,  with  hearts  too  full  for  utterance.  After 
awhile  Dr.  Bellinger  said,  under  his  breath, — 

"  The  eyes  seem  to  have  settled  it, — but  the  portrait 
tells  the  same  story."  And  he  turned  it  with  its  face 
to  the  wall. 

Mrs.  Armstrong  lifted  her  head  at  last,  and  drew 
from  her  bosom  a  heavy  gold  ring,  attached  to  a 
silken  cord.  "  It  is  my  wedding-ring,  Kenneth,"  she 
said.  "  Here  are  your  father's  initials  and  mine,  and 
the  date  of  our  marriage." 

He  held  it  for  a  moment,  while  his  features  worked 
powerfully.  Then  he  placed  it  on  her  ringer. 

"'With  this  rjng  I  thee  wed,'"  he  said,  reverently. 


EXPIA  T10N. 


315 


CHAPTER   XXVI. 

PATSY,  "  on  hospitable  thoughts  intent,"  wiped  her 
eyes,  and  started  for  the  door.  Dinner  must  be  seen 
to,  come  what  may.  Mrs.  Armstrong  stopped  her. 

"  Wait  one  moment,"  she  said.  "  Before  any  one 
leaves  this  room,  I  must  receive  a  pledge  of  secrecy 
from  all  of  you.  What  has  been  made  known  here 
to-day  belongs  solely  to  us.  It  must  go  no  further." 

Kenneth  looked  at  her  as  one  aghast ;  and  a  little 
murmur  of  astonishment  ran  round  the  room.  Patsy 
sat  down  again. 

"  You  did  not  think,"  continued  Mrs.  Armstrong, 
turning  her  eyes  from  one  to  the  other  with  soft,  ap 
pealing  glances, — "  you  did  not  think  I  meant,  or 
would  consent,  that  the  world  should  ever  hear  this 
sad  story  ?" 

"  But  it  must  hear  it,"  said  Kenneth.  "  How  else 
can  you  resume  your  rightful  place, — the  station  due 
to  you  as  my  father's  widow  ?" 

She  shook  her  head  with  grave  dignity.  "  I  shall 
never  resume  it,  Kenneth.  Alice  Armstrong  is  dead 
and  buried.  For  her  there  is  no  resurrection.  Nay, 
nay, — hear  me  !"  she  cried,  as  he  would  have  inter 
rupted  her  with  eager  entreaties  and  expostulations. 
"  Think  but  for  one  moment !  I  left  my  husband 
and  child  and  home,  because  I  felt  it  was  the  only 
reparation  I  could  make  for  the  evils  I  had  brought 


316  EXPIATION. 

upon  them.  The  only  atonement,  the  only  expiation, 
I  could  make  for  the  fatal  error  of  my  youth  and  the 
mad  perverseness  of  my  later  years,  was  to  remove 
myself  from  them  as  far  as  the  east  is  from  the  west. 
I  died  to  them  and  to  the  world,  that  night,  as  truly, 
as  entirely,  as  if  I  had  indeed  been  in  the  coffin  that 
was  carried  in  stately  pomp  to  Greenwood.  I  gave 
your  father  at  the  last  a  chance  to  save  Clyde.  He 
had  never  had  it  before." 

"  But  Clyde,  our  poor  Clyde,  is  gone,"  said  Ken 
neth.  "  Nothing  we  do  can  help  or  harm  him  now. 
Let  the  dead  past  bury  its  dead.  Your  expiation " 

"  Is  not  ended,"  she  said,  solemnly,  as  he  hesitated. 
"  It  is  not  ended.  Look  me  in  the  face,  Kenneth, 
and  tell  me  if  you  think  it  would  be  right  for  me  to 
betray  the  secret  your  father  guarded  so  sacredly, 
and  in  the  keeping  of  which  he  sacrificed  the  best 
years  of  his  life.  You  say  yourself  that  he  shrank 
sensitively  from  being  made,  or  from  having  Clyde 
made,  the  subject  of  public  talk  and  scandal.  Do 
you  believe  that  death  has  changed  him  so  entirely 
that  if  he  could  stand  here  in  bodily  presence  to-day, 
he  would  not  still  shrink  from  the  exposure  of  his 
family  skeleton  ?  I  tell  you  that  John  Armstrong 
is  John  Armstrong  still, — in  the  other  world  as  in 
this." 

"  This  may  be  all  true,"  Kenneth  answered.  "  But 
you  have  your  rights  also.  I  must  not  let  my  loyalty 
to  my  father's  memory,  to  his  last  expressed  wishes, 
even,  make  me  unjust  to  you." 

"  Rights  ?  I  have  none,  save  the  right  to  continue 
the  expiation  I  began  so  long  ago.  All  my  other 


EXPIA  TWN. 


317 


rights  were  buried  with  Alice  Armstrong.  My  friends," 
she  continued,  looking  round  upon  us,  "  to  you  I  am 
the  widow  of  Clyde's  father.  An  humbled,  sorrow 
ing,  repentant  woman,  who  would  fain  make  such 
atonement  as  she  may  for  the  mistakes,  the  sins,  of  a 
lifetime.  To  the  world — the  small  world  that  will 
know  of  me — I  am  still,  and  must  remain,  Sister 
Agnes  of  St.  Elizabeth's.  My  vows  were  taken,  not 
for  months  or  years,  but  for  life." 

We  were  all  silent  for  a  moment, — half  from  as 
tonishment,  half  from  an  emotion  strangely  com 
pounded  of  relief  and  sorrow.  Probably  each  of  us 
had  done  Mrs.  Armstrong  the  injustice  of  doubting 
whether  some  alloy  of  earthly  greed  or  selfishness 
had  not  joined  with  the  anguish  of  mother-love  in 
leading  to  this  revelation. 

Kenneth  looked  at  her  for  a  moment  with  all  his 
heart  in  his  eyes ;  then  he  threw  himself  at  her  feet, 
and  clasped  her  hand  in  both  of  his. 

"  But  you  will  at  least  receive  a  son's  love  from 
me,  mother  !"  he  exclaimed.  "  If  this  is  really  your 
wish,  it  shall  be  respected  as  sacredly  as  if  it  were  the 
wish  of  one  of  God's  angels.  But  surely  John  Arm 
strong's  son  —  Clyde  Armstrong's  brother — cannot 
plead  with  you  in  vain.  They  speak  to  you  through 
me !" 

We  stole  away  and  left  them. 

In  the  rush  and  tumult  of  feeling  consequent  upon 
the  exciting  events  of  the  morning,  our  hearts  re 
belled  against  Mrs.  Armstrong's  decision.  Yet  we 
knew,  every  one  of  us,  that  it  was  right  and  best. 
She  was  wise  in  her  judgment.  Let  the  ashes  of  the 
27* 


EXPIA  TION. 

past  rest  undisturbed  by  the  profane  clamor  and 
noisy  babbling  that  would  surely  have  followed  a 
disclosure  of  the  truth. 

One  thing,  however,  we  all  insisted  upon, — that 
she  should  no  longer  wear  the  mask  of  dumbness. 
She  was  safe  now  from  impertinent  questioning,  and 
the  disguise  was  no  longer  needed. 

"  It  is  easily  managed,"  said  Dr.  Bellinger.  "  You 
are  to  stay  here  for  awhile  and  recruit,  under  my  ex 
press  orders.  You  are  going  to  submit  to  treatment 
— severe  medical  treatment,  madam — before  I  leave 
for  New  York,  which  will  be  on  the  morrow.  I  shall 
tell  all  our  friends  at  St.  Elizabeth's  that  there  is  a 
fair  chance  of  your  recovering  your  speech.  And 
you  will  recover  it.  A  plain  case,  you  perceive;  easy 
as  a — b — c." 

Which  programme  was  faithfully  carried  out. 

A  peace  and  quiet  whose  blessedness  I  cannot 
describe  to  you,  seemed  to  settle  down  upon  us  after 
Dr.  Bellinger  left.  Sister  Agnes — for  by  that  name 
she  desired  us  all  to  call  her,  saying  that  detection 
would  be  sure  to  follow  our  use  of  her  real  title — was 
never  weary  of  asking  questions  about  her  husband, 
about  Clyde,  their  habits,  their  devotion  to  each 
other,  and  all  the  little,  trifling  details  of  daily  living. 
She  and  I  sat  together  in  the  clear  mornings,  in  the 
still  noontides,  in  the  soft  twilights,  talking — some 
times  sadly,  but  for  the  most  part  brightly  and  ten 
derly — of  the  two  whose  graves  were  growing  green 
in  the  glad  spring  sunshine. 

One  day  we  sat  in  my  little  parlor,  sewing  and 
chatting,  as  women  will.  She  was  growing  so  fair, 


EXPIA  TION. 


3'9 


so  young,  in  this  enforced  quiet,  with  the  burden  of 
an  unshared  secret  weighing  her  down  no  longer, 
and  her  heart's  hungry  cravings  in  a  measure  satis 
fied.  She  still  wore  her  quaint  caps,  and  we  were  all 
glad  of  it.  They  were  a  part  of  the  picture  we  could 
not  afford  to  lose. 

Elsie  and  Kenneth  were  out  in  the  porch,  saying 
little,  but  quietly  content.  No  word  of  love  had 
passed  between  them ;  but  gradually,  I  could  see, 
they  were  coming  to  know  each  other's  hearts. 
Slowly  but  surely  the  barrier  that  had  grown  up  be 
tween  them  was  melting  away.  Suddenly  through 
the  stillness  Elsie's  voice  stole  soft  and  low,  singing, 
as  on  the  evening  that  seemed  so  long  ago, — though 
it  was  not  yet  a  year, — the  Song  of  Elaine,  the  Lily 
Maid  of  Astolat. 

Sister  Agnes  held  her  breath  to  listen. 

"  Tell  me,"  she  whispered,  as  the  last  note  died 
away.  "  Do  they  two  love  each  other?  Is  Kenneth 
caught  in  the  meshes  of  her  golden  hair,  even  as  my 
poor  Clyde  was  ?" 

I  told  her  the  whole  story, — how  Kenneth  had 
loved  her  first, — how  like  a  thunderbolt  out  of  the 
clear  heavens  had  come  the  knowledge  of  Clyde's 
passion, — how  Kenneth  had  withdrawn  from  the  lists 
himself,  while  at  the  same  time  he  had  striven  to 
build  up  walls  of  adamant  between  his  brother  and 
Elsie.  It  was  all  so  clear  now  ! 

Pretty  soon  the  children,  as  we  elderly  women 
delighted  to  call  them,  strayed  off  up  the  hill  to  the 
conservatory, — coming  back  in  half  an  hour  with  a 
basket  full  of  the  flowers  Clyde  had  so  loved  and 


320 


EX  PI  A  77  ON. 


tended.  They  sat  upon  the  steps  a  few  moments, 
enjoying  their  delicious  perfume.  Then  Elsie 
brought  her  hat  and  shawl,  and  they  disappeared 
down  the  winding  road.  We  knew,  well  enough, 
where  they  were  going. 

"  Clyde's  memory  will  be  another  tie  between  them 
some  day,"  said  Sister  Agnes,  gazing  after  them  with 
brimming  eyes. 

A  little  bird  told  me  what  happened  that  afternoon 
in  May,  dear  reader,  and  I  will  tell  it  to  you. 

Leaving  the  main  road,  they  wandered  on,  up  the 
grassy  slopes,  through  the  meadows  white  with 
strawberry-blossoms,  and  along  the  curving  river- 
banks,  until  they  reached  the  graveyard  on  the  far 
hillside.  Their  talk  had  been  in  commonplaces  at 
first, — of  the  sunshine,  and  the  birds,  and  the  soft, 
warm  airs  that  rustled  the  tree-tops.  But  gradually  it 
had  taken  a  deeper  tone,  and  drifted  on  into  those 
regions  where  the  mask  of  conventionalism  drops  off 
and  soul  speaks  to  soul.  They  talked  of  life,  of  its 
glorious  possibilities,  its  aspirations,  and  its  mighty 
endeavors.  They  spoke  of  God,  of  heaven,  and  of 
eternity.  And  they  spoke  lovingly  and  tenderly  of 
Clyde. 

Above  them  was  the  far  blue  sky,  around  them 
the  wide  sweep  of  the  everlasting  hills,  at  their  feet 
a  grave, — two  graves, — flower-strewn,  wherein  "  the 
weary  were  at  rest."  Elsie's  eyes  were  bent  upon 
them,  but  her  thoughts  had  winged  their  flight  far 
beyond  moon  and  star,  and  she  saw  the  Great  White 
Throne,  and  Him  that  sitteth  on  it. 

Kenneth  saw  her,  and  her  only.     "  Elsie,"  he  said, 


EXPIATION.  221 

at  last,  "  do  you  remember  what  you  said  to  me,  one 
October  afternoon,  when  we  had  been  reading  '  The 
Lotus-Eaters'  ?" 

Her  face  crimsoned,  tears  sprang  to  her  blue  eyes, 
and  she  reached  out  her  two  hands  impulsively. 
"  Remember  it  ?  Kenneth,  Kenneth,  I  was  so  cruel, 
so  unjust!"  she  cried.  "  But  I  did  not  know, — I  did 
not  understand.  It  was  all  such  a  mystery " 

"  Hush,  hush  !"  he  whispered,  softly,  lifting  a  white 
rosebud  from  Clyde's  grave  and  laying  it  against  her 
lips.  "  No  such  words  are  needed.  You  were  true 
and  sincere  and  womanly, — that  was  all."  He  was 
silent  for  a  moment, — then  went  on  in  low,  eager, 
passionate  tones,  while  his  steadfast  eyes  sought  hers 
and  held  them.  "  I  loved  you  then,"  he  said,  "with 
a  love  strong  as  death,  and  just  as  hopeless.  I  love 
you  now  with  a  love  that  dares  to  claim  you,  even 
beside  this  grave.  On  my  bended  knees  I  prayed 
then  that  you  might  not  care  for  me.  But  to-day — 
Elsie  !  my  sibyl,  my  inspirer,  sole  love  of  my  boyhood, 
sole  hope  of  my  manhood,  teach  me  how  to  win 
you !" 

The  little  bird  refused  to  tell  me  another  word. 
But  by  the  light  that  illumined  their  faces  when  they 
came  down  from  the  hill, — "  the  light  that  never  was 
on  sea  or  land," — we  knew  that  she  was  won. 

Little  more  remains  to  be  told. 

Once  again  the  two — Elsie  and  Kenneth — tried 
to  persuade  Sister  Agnes  to  give  up  her  work  at 
St.  Elizabeth's,  and  live  with  them, — if  not  as  an 
acknowledged  mother,  yet  as  their  most  cherished 
friend  and  counselor.  But  it  was  of  no  avail.  The 


322  EXPIATION. 

most  they  could  win  from  her  was  a  promise  that 
when  she  could  work  no  longer  she  would  rest  in  the 
warm  shelter  of  their  love  and  care.  With  that  they 
were  forced  to  be  content. 

Three  years  afterward  there  was  a  wedding  in  my 
small  parlor.  It  was  the  wish  of  both  to  be  married 
in  Altona.  So,  one  summer  morning,  with  no  pomp 
or  parade,  no  bustle  of  bridesmaids  and  groomsmen, 
no  rustling  of  satins  or  fluttering  of  laces,  the  two 
were  made  one.  But  the  bride  !  Ah,  I  wish  you 
could  all  have  seen  how  fair  and  sweet  and  lovely 
she  was  ! 

They  went  away  immediately,  for  Kenneth's  place 
now  was  elsewhere.  There  were  no  more  days  of 
aesthetic  idleness  for  him ;  for  out  in  the  busy  world 
of  men  he  had  already  taken  rank  with  those  who 
labor  and  achieve.  Elsie's  "  hero"  would  one  day  win 
the  lofty  height  she  had  craved  for  him. 

But  they  could  not  give  up  Greyholt.  It  was  hal 
lowed  by  too  many  memories.  So,  at  their  request, 
I  left  my  own  little  brown  cottage,  and  Patsy  and  I, 
with  Dennis  for  our  faithful  servitor,  keep  the  old 
place  fresh  and  bright.  Every  summer  they  come  to 
us,  and  for  days  and  weeks  the  sound  of  light  foot 
steps,  happy,  love-tuned  voices,  and  ringing  laughter 
echoes  from  hall  and  chamber.  Sometimes  Dr.  Bel 
linger  joins  us ;  and  Sister  Agnes  always, — still  in 
her  gray  dress  and  nun-like  cap.  But  dearest  of  all — 
most  welcome  of  all — is  the  little  Clyde,  whose  rosy 
face  softens  in  the  twilight  when  Sister  Agnes  takes 
him  on  her  knee  and  tells  him  stories  of  that  other 
Clyde  who  lies  at  rest  upon  the  hillside. 


EXPIATION.  323 

As  for  her,  with  her  placid  face,  her  saintly  ways, 
she  has  learned  the  blessedness  of  renunciation,  the 
peace  that  clasps  hands  with  patience.  We  who  know 
her  best — who  know  of  her  voluntary,  life-long  expia 
tion  of  the  errors  of  her  youth — think  that  no  saint 
among  them  all  was  more  worthy  of  canonization 
than  our  Sister  Agnes  of  St.  Elizabeth's. 


THE    END. 


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